Dragon of the South, Mustang of the West
by Okami of the Cheese
Summary: Georgia McCree is sick of being treated like a child. Enter Hanzo, the mysterious assassin with a bow on a mission for redemption. He treats her like a normal person, and she's the only one he can truly trust. And now here they are, part of a ragtag team of specialists hellbent on changing the world for the better. Rated M for later.
1. Georgia McCree

**Hey everyone, this is a brand new fanfic that started after I began playing Overwatch recently again, and dove into the lore. So I hope y'all enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of Overwatch or their characters.  
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Chapter One: Georgia McCree

Brigitte glanced at her adopted sister as she tinkered with the tools on the bench beside her. She wasn't nearly as gifted a tinkerer as Brigitte herself, but she enjoyed spending time with her sister nonetheless. And the Swedish engineer-turned-Overwatch agent spent most if not all of her time in the workshop. It had been set up in the old armoury room in the original Gibraltar Watchpoint base, where the recently recalled and reformed Overwatch was using as their homebase. The pair of them were the youngest recruits in history aside from Tracer. With Brigitte having become Reinhardt's new squire, and her sister rapidly developing a sort of apprenticeship with their resident angel doctor, they had quickly become the 'babies' of the organisation. It was something that neither one liked very much, especially because many of the elders worried over them, and they tried to be as mature as possible around base.

Few of the former Overwatch agents had re-joined the cause, trickling through the doors over the past few months to join the diverse, rag tag family led by Winston, their scientist-turned-leader. Brigitte had joined her father in keeping weapons and armour in good repair, while also joining Reinhardt on missions to assist and protect him as best she could. He had a tendency to forget he wasn't a young twenty something charging about in the Omnic Crisis anymore.

Brigitte chuckled as her sister dropped the wrench she was holding and let off a line of expletives foul enough to make even Rein do a double take. "Careful _flicka_, those wrenches bite."

A scowl was directed at her from behind a curtain of luscious honeyed hair. She had always been jealous of how little her sister needed to do to maintain her long locks. If she even tried to go a couple of days without washing hers it turned into a greasy, slick mess. "Brig, if you keep calling me that no one will take me seriously."

Brown eyes met green and twinkled with mirth. "Stop playing around with the tools then, and I might consider it." Green eyes rolled at her as she adjusted the unlocking mechanism in her shield.

"Can we go to the practice range yet?" her drawl stretched into an almost whine.

"I'm almost finished." Brigitte shook her head. Only three years her younger, sometimes her impatience was very child-like. "Gee Gee, why don't you grab your gun from your room and meet me there?"

The brunette brightened considerably. "Sure thing. See you in five?" She didn't give the Swedish girl a chance to reply as she darted out of the armoury and down to the living quarter sector of the base.

/0*0\

Georgia, or Gee Gee, as her sister called her, had basically lived her entire life at Overwatch. She'd never met her mother, and her father had been a constant figure in her world until Overwatch had disbanded years ago. That was when she had been adopted into the Lindholm family by Brigitte. She wasn't sure what would have been done with her otherwise; her father was a wanted man who had disappeared like a ghost and her mother hadn't shown a lick of interest in her since her birth. She loved her father dearly, but he was a bull-headed, self-loathing cowboy with confused higher morals, and not much would change that about him, even her. She understood that now. As an eleven year old girl in a crumbling organisation watching her family being ripped apart by society, she hadn't quite understood his reason for leaving. He'd always had impeccable insight, and had seen trouble brewing between their commanding officers for some time. Ana Amari disappearing after a botched mission had just escalated it.

Georgia was the youngest recruit at nineteen, but she had always unofficially been a part of it. She had been too young to be properly inducted, and then they had been disbanded. She had a knack for guns. It didn't matter what model, make or type it was, she could shoot it with pin point accuracy. She'd inherited a power from her father too, which she'd been practicing in secret for a while. No one knew about it, not even Brigitte. It was similar to Dead-Eye, but instead of firing multiple bullets, she fired one true shot. It never missed—ever. But she still hadn't gotten the hang of not passing out after using it. She nicknamed the knack Eagle-Eye; she knew her dad saw red when he used his, and anyone he truly wanted dead in that moment met their fate with one of Peacekeeper's bullets. She'd tested the range of it, and so far she could hit a single target several hundred meters away with her replica Peacekeeper, Peacemaker. It was far further than the pistol was truly capable of firing. Torbjorn had fashioned it for her as a birthday present after McCree had left, to give her a bit of comfort with his disappearance. It had helped a lot, but whatever he did in the engineering process had made the gun more special than any other she'd held.

She fetched Peacemaker out of its case under her bed and one of her Smith and Weston's from her desk. She had a fondness for revolver pistols. She grabbed her double holster as well and fastened it around her waist before securing the weapons in the holsters. She grabbed a couple of boxes of ammo on her way out the door, and hummed a merry tune as she practically skipped her way down to the practice range. The range itself was outside on a cliff, carved into the mountain, with targets set up in different distances and heights. Dormant programmed AI robots were scattered about the place, most likely having been stopped in the middle of a simulation. The console at the door was dim, in hibernate. Ah, someone had recently left and was probably planning to come back.

The exterior door beeped and glowed bright green as she walked through it, detecting her heat signature and signalling that the range was being used. There was a fingerprint reader on the side of the wall, which she pressed her hand to. Another added safety feature, which told the console who was still actively using the range. Using the simulator console locked people out who weren't using it, to prevent anyone from getting hurt. A simulation was unable to be started up while the range was in casual use. Winston really did think of everything when he was implementing technology. He'd upgraded it since Overwatch had disbanded, to improve the AI and add more safety measures. He didn't want to risk anyone needlessly getting hurt if he could help it.

She walked passed the exterior door into the open maze of exposed buildings, walkways and down to the designated target practice area. She was the only one actively using the range, so Brigitte hadn't shown up yet. If she ever did. Without Georgia there to annoy her, she zoned into whatever she was working on in the workshop. Ah well. She knew her sister, and she would be apologetic later, so the southern belle didn't mind all that much.

She sauntered over to the target area and set her ammo boxes down on a nearby crate, and began loading her bullets into their respective guns. She never had it loaded around base, though some kept their guns loaded. Because she was so young it was deemed a risk, so they didn't let her. She didn't mind all that much, though she did feel better with the familiar weighted gun in her hand, ready to smoke at a moment's notice. She pulled a hair tie out of her pocket and spent a few minutes threading her locks into a loose plait down her back. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cut it, if she'd ever done so. Plaited, the tied tip hung down around her hips.

She tucked a wayward strand behind her ear and flexed her fingers, picking her guns up and feeling the metal between them. She came to the range at least once a day to practice, much to the chagrin of Winston, who reminded her the limited budget they now had to operate under. She guessed food and jet fuel were slightly more important than the copious amounts of ammo she went through, but she felt miles behind in skill of the rest of them. Especially because she was three years younger than Brig, and they'd only just tolerated her joining in missions because she was paired with one of their trusted veterans. She had yet to be deployed out into the field, and she was itching for a chance to prove herself. She wanted to be worthy to be an agent, she wanted to be useful. Which was also why she had taken to following their resident doctor around, to try and increase her usefulness, and also so Angela wasn't the only medic being sent out every time. Though she highly doubted they would see it as maturity, and instead as a desperation to be seen as mature.

She took a stance in front of the targets, and steadied her breathing. Genji had taught her how to do it properly recently; for years she'd been doing it on instinct and the dramatic change it made had improved her accuracy from almost one hundred percent to perfect. She was a decent shot, but apparently breathing correctly just made her scarily deadly. She knew she had to be reliably consistent with her hit rate, otherwise they wouldn't send her. What was the point of sending a liability on super important missions to extract people or information?

She steadied her eye onto a target, eyeballing the distance and quickly calculating for wind direction and bullet drop over said distance, before raising Peacemaker and locking on. BANG. She fondled the trigger softly and the barrel whirred its special hum as the bullet sung true, and made a perfect hole in the paper down the range. BANG. Another bullet 5mm left of the first. BANG. 5mm right of the first hole. BANG. BANG. BANG. One bullet above and two below, evenly spaced. She blew away the wisps of smoke winding from the end of the barrel, and trekked over to fetch her artwork. Satisfied with her handiwork, she reloaded Peacemaker and painted her own pictures into the paper, until all the paper targets were gone and her boxes felt considerably lighter.

She holstered her pistols and gathered up her papers and boxes and headed back to her room with them. Putting them away, she headed down to the armoury to check if Brigitte was there. Popping her head in, a cheeky retort locked and loaded died on the tip of her tongue as she noted the empty room. She frowned as she noticed the shield that she had been working on was missing from the bench, but none of the tools had been put away. Her frown deepened. Brig never left tools about; she was borderline OCD when it came to her tools. She entered the room and walked over to the bench. A muffled curse from somewhere deeper within in the workshop caught her ear, and she followed the steady stream of expletives until she found a flushed, exasperated Brigitte struggling with something in her hand.

"Hey Brig, need a hand?" Georgia arched a brow as her sister looked up at her with an almost pleading look on her face.

"Please. I've been trying to get it apart for ages, my hand's stuck." She showed her predicament to the southerner and got a giggle for her troubles. Brigitte huffed. "What's so funny?"

Georgia shook her head and went to inspect the damage. "Nothing. Well, except for the fact it looks like you've already got a hand. I don't know if I want to get _mine_ stuck too."

She'd somehow managed to wedge the handle on her shield too tight, and it had trapped her palm and her fingers in place. She was trying to use a screwdriver at an awkward angle to get at the particular mechanism that would release it, except for the fact she couldn't quick get the angle right. She huffed again and handed Georgia the screwdriver. "Just unscrew the bolt there, at the top. I was testing the modifications I made and it malfunctioned."

"What modifications? I thought your barrier shield worked fine?" It was an impressive feat of engineering, modelled off Reinhardt's own one, but was detachable from her gauntlet and had metal caps on the corners.

Brigitte groaned. "It did. I was trying to see if I could expand the surface area by increasing the dilation of the barrier mechanism. Turns out, it can only go so far before it decides my hand is a good snack."

"Damn." A few moments later and Brigitte's hand was free. "There you go." Georgia handed her the screwdriver back as she flexed her poor fingers, likely trying to get feeling back into them. "I guess this is a good enough excuse for missing our practice session at the range."

Brigitte's eyes widened in horror. "Oh crap, Gee Gee I'm so sorry. I was trying to fix this and then my hand got caught—"

Georgia laughed. "I think we'll call it even. How many times have you rescued my stupid ass?"

Brigitte smiled. "Fair enough. Want to grab some lunch to make up for it?" she asked as she set her shield back down on the bench and went about putting her tools away.

"Can't, I have a training session with Dr Ziegler in the infirmary this afternoon. She's drilling me on emergency patient care, since our line to work is so dangerous."

Brigitte nodded knowingly. "Good luck. I'll save you some dinner."

Georgia smiled back sheepishly. Her sister knew her too well. "Thanks." She had a gruelling afternoon ahead of her; Angela was ruthless when it came to protocol and safety of patients. The problem was that Georgia learnt better by doing things; remembering a buttload of information without a physical action to go with it was hard for her and didn't come naturally. Angela had slowly let her near equipment in the infirmary over the last few months of proving herself, but she was still miles off doing anything on an actual person. She made her way through the base, greeting the other agents she met as she went, to get to the infirmary. It was situated close to the hangers, for quick patient transfer to minimise risk during transit to said patients.

Angela was there sorting through the medical supplies when she arrived. The blonde glanced up as she entered. "Ah, good afternoon Georgia. We'll be going over the practical application of equipment this afternoon. And no, you won't be doing any practical work until you get everything right." That last quip at her was to quell the hopeful look in her eye that the doctor had surely seen.

Georgia sighed. "Okay. Well, where are we beginning then?" She sat down on a stool next to her as the training began, already feeling overwhelmed as the doctor once more launched into a very detailed lecture on the safety and use of needles and IV drips, and monitoring vitals. It was going to be a long afternoon.

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**So end of chapter, introducing one of our protangonists, Georgia. She's my little cinnamon bun, and I love her. See you guys in the next chapter :) **


	2. Save a Life

**So chapter 2 of who knows how many. We see tons more of Georgia (because she's my girl and I love her), and maybe Hanzo. Perhaps. Also forgot to make a note that I do not have a beta reader of any kind, and so these are all edited and checked by myself. So there may (most definitely) be some errors of some kind.**

**Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch. **

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Chapter Two: Save a Life

Georgia pottered around the base kitchen whistling along to the soft music playing from her phone. Mostly it was to make herself feel better while she was waiting for the current batch of muffins to bake. She had turned out several batches onto cooling racks already, and had run out of flour, so couldn't make more. She was washing the bowls manually in the sink while she waited. She normally enjoyed baking, with the heady scent of scrumptious goodies wafting in the air, but there was a bitterness in the pit of her stomach that prevented the normally bubbly girl from doing so. She'd waved Brigitte and Reinhardt off this morning, with Tracer piloting and Genji heading out with them on a mission in Sweden. It wasn't fair at all. Angela had opted to stay behind on this mission as it was expected to be an uneventful one, but important nonetheless. Intel gathering and securing of some questionable supplies meant for Talon. Brigitte had followed Rein on the promise to aid him with supply transport, and Genji had gone as the obvious choice for stealth intel gathering. They had no other qualified pilots at the moment, so Tracer had headed out again.

It wasn't fair. Not by a long shot. She could have been a useful extra set of eyes and ears. She placed a bowl down in the drying rack a little more forcefully than she had meant to. She could have been a sniper cover for them. She was the only one skilled enough with a gun to be able to do it in their group. She loved her pistols, but she could handle any gun put into her hands. There was something satisfying about the bird's eye view of a good sniping position, being the eyes for the team and watching their backs. Sending all close quarters members was a bad move. In her opinion. The bitterness in her stomach was brindled with worry, and her gut was telling her this mission was looking too convenient. There was no way it could go as smoothly as they hoped it would. They'd left at dawn, and were expected to be back in the evening. She hoped it went okay for them, if only for the doctor's sake.

The oven timer dinged, indicating the baked goods were done. Georgia absentmindedly pulled them out and turned them onto cooling racks before washing the tray and emptying the sink. Sighing, and itching to do something, she headed down to the medical bay to do some more training with the doctor. Winston had been cross with how much ammo she was going through, and it took a lot of willpower and twitching of her trigger finger to stop herself from disobeying him.

/0*0\

Georgia didn't remember arriving or greeting Angela as she walked in, but her brows rose at the stack of papers on the doctor's desk in the corner. "What are those? They weren't there yesterday."

The blonde woman levelled a kind, if a bit cunning, grin at her. "I thought this might help you commit your training to memory."

"By writing lines?"

"Close enough. If you want to learn, unfortunately I need you to do it quickly. And you've proven just listening to me isn't working very effectively." She was sorting through supply boxes in the cupboard, no doubt organising and taking inventory. "You can start with those papers. Once you are finished, I have a test for you." Her eyes twinkled. "_Then_ we can test your practical work."

Georgia groaned. She guessed it was for the best. She wasn't exactly a qualified doctor or anything. Or even a nurse. And yes, it turned out the Swiss doctor had a sense of humour. And a knack for mild torture. Georgia spent the rest of the day writing lines and filling in diagrams. By the time she was finished with the stack it was dinner time. She figured if she was going to get the torture over and done with, she may as well do it in one go. Her spasming hand regretted her decision very much.

As the day had worn into evening however, and evening had worn into night, the doctor's brow had grown deeper and deeper furrows. She was quiet, but Georgia knew Angela was concerned. The field team should have been back by now. They were silently eating dinner that the younger had scrounged up when Angela huffed out of anxiety and pushed the commlink on her desk telephone in the office. It beeped a few times before Winston answered.

"_Angela?_"

"I'm concerned Winston. They aren't back yet. They should have arrived hours ago." Angela hummed with worry. Georgia could see her very essence as a doctor in that moment. Her sole purpose was to heal and keep people safe, to save lives. Right now, she didn't know where the team was and if those lives were currently in danger. "I should have gone with them."

"_Don't talk like that. There wasn't enough room on the plane with Reinhart insisting on going. If he's there with Genji, Lena and Brigitte will be fine._" The gorilla knew the doctor well.

Angela sighed. "I know, but I worry anyway. I should have still gone. They may have needed medical assistance." She paused a moment. "Has Lena made contacted with you as to why they are late?"

"_Not yet. But I will message you when she does_."

"Thank you Winston." She hung up the call a moment later and sighed deeply.

"Angela, they'll be okay you know. They'll look after Brig, I know it." They would. It was her second mission, and they would make sure she would be safe. Georgia knew that was what she was concerned with, but she was also concerned for the others if something did go wrong. Brigitte would come back safely, that was a certainty. There was no way Rein or the others would allow harm to come to her. But the question that hung in there air was, would the others be safe? Georgia was starting to doubt it the longer time ticked on.

Neither woman budged from the medical bay. Angela wouldn't have been able to sleep even if she had needed to. She had a bad habit of worry induced insomnia when field teams were deployed. Georgia's worry for her sister and friends also kept her in place, continuing with paperwork that Angela set her and answering questions she quizzed the young girl on. If anything, she was glad to be a distraction for the doctor while the sky turned inky black and the moon waned amongst the curtain of stars.

It was nearing two in the morning when the tired women were shocked into alertness by Winston's voice booming over the base overspeakers. "_Incoming carrier with field team, uh, with an addition…uh, severely injured male. Minor injuries otherwise, uh, five minutes out_." The speaker when dead, and Angela leapt into action.

She gathered her emergency aid bag, and barked swift orders at Georgia. The young woman jumped at the stark change in tone from the doctor, and scrambled to do as she was told. Her heart was pounding. Was she helping the doctor with this? Who was the man? Were the others okay? How badly was he injured? Her breathing was ragged as she hastily tied her hair up in a plait and wove it into a bun. She grabbed a pair of gloves and sprinted after the doctor as she burst out the door in a swift, orderly fashion.

The doctor's flared skirt whipped behind her as she ran, and Georgia donned the gloves hastily as she bounced after Angela. By the time she had caught up with her in the hanger she was puffing, and bent over double to catch her breath. Winston was also there, anxiously awaiting his friends with Torbjorn next to him, wringing his hands. Angela was almost as still as a statue as they waiting for the seconds to tick by at an excruciating pace. Two minutes away. They could hear the plane, but they couldn't see it yet through the darkness. Angela checked her watch. She was almost regal in her beauty, poised and awaiting her charge. Georgia briefly wondered if it was something that she learnt, or was born with.

Another minute tensely passed by as lights came into view and the roar of the engines got steadily louder. It grew closer and closer, and touched down exactly when Winston said it would. The huge tires screeched as they hit the hanger floor, and Tracer slowed the plane and swung it around so the door opened towards the base. The engines cut out, and a moment later the door hydraulics hissed as they swung down as a set of stairs. Angela was already waiting at the bottom of said stairs as Genji appeared, carrying one half of a gurney. Reinhardt followed a moment later with the other half. They tried to jostle their charge as little as possible as they descended and placed him on the floor of the hanger. The doctor was on him immediately, checking vital signs and assessing damage. Georgia couldn't move—her feet were plastered to the floor. She wasn't certain she could move even if she wanted to.

Brigitte and Tracer emerged next, and she noticed all four of them looked weary and tired from the events of their mission. Torjorn bundled Brig up immediately into a hug, squeezing the life out of her no doubt. Genji was hovering over the gurney next to Angela. Tracer waved a mock salute to Winston before boarding the plane again, likely doing a touch down process before heading off to bed.

Angela started wheeling the gurney towards the doors, and called for Georgia to follow. Her legs somehow moved of their own accord, and she dashed after the hasty doctor once again, the cybernetic ninja close behind. Reality hit her once they had wheeled the man into the medical bay and into the theatre room. Angela barked orders to her as she bustled about efficiently, inserting an IV while Georgia grabbed a vitals sheet from a folder on the wall. She grabbed a pen and went to hand them to the doctor, who waved her off. She was busy inspecting some deep gashes in the man's side and chest.

"You're going to do it." Angela took her stethoscope from around her neck and handed it to the young woman. "This man needs two pairs of hands."

Georgia balked. "W-why—what?" but she took the stethoscope. She did as she was told. She rushed about filling a kidney dish with scrubs and sterilising solution under Angela's strict instruction. The woman was scarily good at multitasking. She was scrubbing up at the sink, and Georgia gulped. She intended to do surgery on the man, and she needed Georgia's help.

Georgia monitored the man's vitals and removed his odd robes as instructed, marvelling at the intricate dragon tattoo covering most of his arm and left pectoral. She glanced at his ashen face every now and then as she did what she was told, desperate to not screw up. She couldn't, this man's life depended on her right now. She couldn't afford to mess up. Not with the ninja hovering annoyingly at the door. She gulped again. Months of tutelage under the doctor hadn't prepared her for the stark, harsh reality of what was in front of her.

The man's breathing was quick and shallow, his brow damp with sweat. His hair was crusted with blood and there was dried blood arching around his eyebrows. Old, but recent injury. The current one was still oozing blood all over her chest. Right. Blood. Angela barked at her again, and she jerked into action. Cut away the robe. Use scrub on wound. So much blood. Get more scrub. Get a drape for surgery. Shit, touched the drape, toss it in the laundry pile. _Don't contaminate_. Vitals, check vitals. Angela's still scrubbing in. Eyebrow's itchy. Shit, got his blood on her face. Bile rising at the back of her throat. Swallow it down. Get a grip. Get. A. Grip. More scrub. Need more. Sterilise. Right, Angela's ready. Shit, forgot the stitching kit. Get new needle. Grab dissolvable suture material. Calm down. It's okay. Angela's here. She's here to help. Right, need to set up oxygen and anaesthetic. Listen to Angela. It's going to be okay. _It's going to be okay_. _He's_ going to be okay. This man is not going to die. Angela will take care of it. She'll fix him. _Angela will fix him_.

Georgia's blood roared in her ears and her heart pounded wildly against her ribcage as she assisted Angela, the woman firm yet kind and direct in her instructions. At some point she had forced Genji to leave, much to the ninja's reluctance. And then she got to work. The younger woman was eternally grateful that the man remained stable enough during the entire surgery that she didn't have to do anything more than monitor him. The doctor placed some clotting nanite gel into the wound to give it a repairing boost before she sutured him up.

By the time the doctor had sutured all his chest wounds up, the sun was peaking in through the windows, bathing them all in a golden light. As the surgery had gone on and the pain drugs had kicked in, the man's face had relaxed and some colour had returned. They had successfully completed the surgery, and he was now in one of the hospital beds in the infirmary section of the medical bay. Georgia had helped Angela clean up the surgery room of blood and tattered clothing, cleaning and sterilising the used instruments, and was now sitting at his bedside. The doctor was even more exhausted than she was; as soon as her patient was safe her anxiety had left her and her insomnia had dissipated, but she still had to assess everyone else, and had gone off to their quarters to do so before finally heading to bed herself. The southerner had stubbornly refused to leave his side, insisting that someone should be there when he woke up, and the doctor would be busy in a briefing with the rest of Overwatch in the afternoon anyway. She wasn't really qualified or involved in anything, so her missing the meeting wouldn't be an issue. The doctor had relented and allowed her to stay.

Her eyelids dropped as the adrenaline left her, and she unwound her hasty bun and untangled the plait from earlier. She'd scrubbed the blood from her hands as well as she could, but she could still feel it everywhere as if in a dream. Despite the gloves and ruthless scrubbing she had done to her skin. She gazed at his face as he slept, several wires hanging off his chest and hooked up to the heart and respiration monitor. Angela had used bandages and a waterproof overpad taped over his gashes, and with his chest and shoulders wrapped he looked part mummy. He had a single IV in his hand which had several bags of fluid joined up to the main line, providing him fluids, antibiotics and Angela's special nanite-diluted fluid she had engineered to accelerate the healing rate.

She was seated beside him with her head resting on her arms on the edge of the bed. She'd loosely tucked the blankets around him to try and minimise the pressure on his chest as much as possible, but left his arms out. She sighed and closed her eyes briefly, just to rest them. Her first time actually helping Angela had gone better than she thought it would. The Swiss woman had been incredibly proud of her after the whole ordeal, praising her ability to work well under pressure. She wasn't sure she deserved such praise, she'd been in a whirlwind of panic the entire time. The only thing had kept her from keeling over and emptying her guts had been his face and the doctor's voice ordering her about. That and sheer willpower not to faint. She had never seen so much blood in her life. Was that what a battlefield looked like? Blood and bodies? Weapons everywhere? More blood? She shuddered. Maybe they were all right. Maybe she wasn't ready. Hell, she hadn't even been cut out to help fix this mystery man up, and she hadn't even caused this.

Her eyes cracked open and she peered up at him, brow creased…what would happen when she _was_ eventually sent out? Would she have to…kill someone? She shook her head, chastising herself. Of course she would have to. At some point. It wasn't like Talon would just keel over if they asked nicely. Was this man Talon? Was he an innocent bystander? She glanced up at his thick, sinewy muscles on his arms where she could see skin. She tentatively reached up and brushed her fingertips along his arm and down to his hands. They were rough and worn, many tiny white flecks of scars dotted the appendages. His tattoo wound all the way down and around his index fingers. The head of a snarling dragon, tongue curling menacingly around his fingers and thumb. She stroked its head absentmindedly, and swore she saw it blink at her. She rubbed her eyes and looked at it again. No, she was just imagining things, surely. Her sleep deprived brain was now hallucinating. Great. Just what she needed. To see dragons _without_ the aid of drugs. Not that she'd ever _done_ drugs. But she'd heard that the hallucinations could be pretty wild.

Of their own accord, her thumb kept stroking the dragon's head on the man's wrist. It looked so angry…was this man angry? She wondered many things as she struggled to stay awake waiting for him to come to.

The beep of the monitors hooked up to him, and her thumb drawing patterns on his skin were too much. The steady rhythm of both drew several yawns out of her, and her head grew heavy until it hit the soft blankets of the bed. She closed her eyes, intending to rest them for a moment. Just a moment…a moment was all she needed…to drift off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

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**Oops. Hanzo isn't in good condition, but he's here now. Poor guy. We'll see you in the next installment :) **


	3. Enter Hanzo Shimada, Stage Left

**We're back with the next chapter! Enjoy!**

**Remember my dumb ass is the only thing editing and proofreading, so there may (probably, almost definitely) be errors of the spelling or grammar kind.**

**Disclaimer: Blizzard own Overwatch.**

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Chapter Three: Enter Hanzo Shimada, Stage Left

Silk. That was what he could feel against his arm, silk. The finest silk he'd ever felt in his life. He frowned, willing his eyes to open. Was he back in the Shimada mansion? No, there was no way. He had excommunicated himself long ago. The ache in his torso drew a soft groan of pain from his lips. He went to lift his left arm, but it was weighted down by something. He tested his right arm, and noted the odd feeling of something restrictive on the back of his hand. He frowned as his fingers met an odd cushiony plastic, and he forced his eyes opened.

He regretted that instantly. Bright artificial lights shone above him harshly, and he flinched away from them. "Ah, you are awake. That is good." His eyes shot opened and he glanced around for the source of the accented voice. German?

Standing to his right, holding a clipboard, was a blonde woman dressed in a doctor's coat with a pen poised in her hand. Apparently his waking had interrupted her writing. She set the clipboard down and procured a stethoscope from inside a deep pocket in the coat. She listened to his chest a moment, moving around the plastic that seemed to envelope him, and he tried to swallow the panic rising in his throat. What had happened to him? What had happened to the others? The mission he had intercepted, had it gone well? Judging by the ache in his chest, he gathered not.

He had spent the last year since his brother's heart wrenching reveal struggling to come to terms with his proposition. He had though his brother dead for the past fifteen years, by his hand. He had been seeking to atone for that grave sin for so long, he hadn't even known his brother to be _alive_. He had been mourning the death of his brother, when he should have been celebrating his life. Not that he had any right to, after what he had done to him. What he had done _again_ in the temple at Hanamura all those months ago. He had unknowingly unleashed his dragons on his brother again, but this time the cybernetic man had deflected them with his own. He had seemingly mastered their ancient technique over these long years.

Hanzo had come to a decision over the past few months, and had decided to track his brother down and accept his proposal. The tracking him down had been the difficult part; he was a Shimada through and through, evasive and coy in his movements. But Hanzo had finally caught wind that Overwatch had issued a Recall, and more recently word of a sting that Talon were setting up to foil some Overwatch operatives. In Sweden. So off he had gone, to try and intercept the agents and inform them of Talon's reasons for sloppily letting information leak. He had gotten there just in time to warn them, but too late to convince them. Genji had believed him instantly, but the huge German crusader, his little woman squire and the British woman had not been so easy to convince. He had wondered what had happened during the face off with the Talon agents, but evidentially he had become severely injured in the crossfire.

He cleared his throat to speak, feeling the dryness itch as he spoke. "Where am I?"

She glanced up at his face as she continued her checks, checking his pulse and monitoring his heart. "Current Overwatch Headquarters." She said in a clipped voice. "I do not approve of you being here, Hanzo Shimada, but I did not discover who you were until after we had saved your life."

He started at the use of his name. So…his brother must have briefed everyone. "Thank you." He said quietly.

"Hm." She tutted. She gestured next to him. "You should thank her. I may have stitched you back together, but she hasn't moved the whole day you've been asleep."

His eyes widened and he looked to his left. A sweet, feminine face was resting on a pair of arms, one of which was draped over his own. He could feel fingers curling around his wrist as the doctor finished up her duties and fixed him with a long stare. "I am Angela Ziegler. When she wakes up, be careful not to get too attached. She is very young and headstrong." She turned around and left, the clipping of her heels the only sound in the room, aside from the soft breathing of the woman next to him.

How had he not noticed her? She shifted slightly and her long hair brushed against his arm, soft as silk. So that's what had felt so soft against his arm when he had woken. It was her hair. He was wary of what to do. He did not want her resting on his arm, but he also did not wish to wake her. Troubled thoughts clouded his mind. She had been there, in that position, all day? What time was it? He remembered boarding the plane in a delirious state early in the morning. And then nothing…until now. Unfortunately, there was no clock, only the streaming rays of the sun reaching across the floor through the window. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling for a time, but grew bored after counting the tiles and let his eyes wander the room, until they fell upon the woman.

Her long lashes rested delicately against her freckled cheeks, while her lips formed a small gap as she breathed in and out. They were slightly cracked from dryness. Several strands of hair fell over her features, blocking her face, and Hanzo struggled with the absurd urge to brush them out of the way. She had a thick plaid blanket wrapped around her shoulders, so he could not see much else. But he could feel the occasional delicate brush against his wrist and the back of his hand by her thumb. It sent shivers up his arm whenever she did. The more she did it, the worse the shivers got. Not one person had laid such blatant affection on him, in their sleep or otherwise. That it was coming from a strange woman he had never met confused his thoughts even more. What right did she think she had to touch him so casually? But then again…what right did he have to deny such an act from someone who literally had a hand in saving his life?

He was still lost in his thoughts as the sun began to dim, and the artificial lights were the only thing lighting the room. A soft groan and a stirring of limbs next to him brought him sharply to the present. He stilled as much as he could while she woke slowly, twitching her arms and reaching one hand up to rub at her eyes. The one holding his own hand stayed where it was, much to his chagrin. The blanket slipped away some as she stretched a little, to reveal thin pink straps of a tank top. She ran her free hand through her hair and blinked her eyes opened, squinting at her surroundings in confusion. They widened in realisation and her head snapped up in his direction.

Brilliant green met his own dark brown and widened even further. A moment later she seemed to realise she was still holding his hand, and snatched hers away hastily, as if burned. His wrist felt icy as her warmth left his, and he frowned inwardly. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you." She rubbed her hands on her thighs and glanced around, everywhere but at him it would seem.

Her twang in her accent placed her from America. These really were a diverse bunch of people. He cleared his throat. "My name is Hanzo. Dr Ziegler mentioned you helped save my life?"

Her cheeks flushed a crimson red at his comment and she wouldn't meet his eye. "If you can call panicking saving your life, then sure."

"May I have the name of the woman who saved my life?" he swallowed the dryness in his voice as best he could.

She cleared her own throat and hugged the blanket closer to herself, no doubt embarrassed that she had woken after him. "Ah, Georgia. My name's Georgia."

He arched a brow. "No last name?"

She chuckled, and snuck a glance at him. "You didn't give me yours so I figured fair's fair."

"Touché." He leaned back into the too-fluffy pillows propping him up.

"Well I need to go find some food and a bathroom. I'll be back in about half an hour?" Georgia stood up, removing the blanket and folding it over the chair. He looked over, too embarrassed to reply. What would he say anyway? No, please don't come back because the embarrassment of being waited on is too much to bear? He doubted that would go over well.

_She is very young and headstrong_. The doctor's words rang in his ears. Just how headstrong was this young woman? And…how young was young exactly? That last thought caused a panicked sweat to break out on his brow. Luckily she had made to turn and walk out of the infirmary so she couldn't see the turmoil clear on his face. But he could see the silken honeyed hair swaying as she walked; worn, faded jeans hugged her form while soft leather boots clipped on the tiles. Dear lord what was _wrong_ with him? Thankfully she didn't turn around as she left and the door clicked shut behind him, leaving him in silence with his thoughts.

His very confusing, wavering thoughts. He covered his face with his hands and groaned in pain. Whether physical or mental he wasn't sure. But he could feel a headache coming on, and he was almost certain she was the cause of it.

He lay there as the minutes ticked by. She would be back soon. He tested the limits of his body, trying to sit up. He winced as the ache in his chest doubled at the effort, but gritted his teeth and dragged himself into an upright position using the braces on the sides of the hospital bed. The monitors beeping grew slightly sporadic as he struggled to coordinate his heavy limbs as he attempted to throw off the blankets, and he cursed as his IV line kept getting caught up between his arm and the bed. It was connected to an IV catheter in his hand, which was help in place by a soft yet incredibly stubborn adhesive tape. After a few minutes of fighting it, he ripped it out, hissing at the foreign tube and tape stinging his skin as he snatched it away and tossed it to the floor. He removed the monitoring stickers and clips from his chest and neck, and the monitor behind him flatlined at the loss of contact from his pulse. He swung his legs over the bed easier after that, but his energy was spent and he sat for a moment to catch his breath, non-tattooed hand going to his chest in an attempt to sooth the spasm in the muscles.

He barely had another moment when the door burst open and a feminine figure in a cat suit and lab coat stormed in. He looked up, startled at the sudden intrusion on the quiet lull in the empty infirmary, and saw her concerned pinch of her brow turn into a frustrated frown, and her haste slowed to a brisk clipping of heels.

She immediately turned the vitals monitor off, clearly seeing he didn't need it anymore, and sighed at the sight of the catheter on the ground and the trickle of blood on the back of his hand from the IV sight. She came stand before him and crossed her arms, her gaze steely. Her tone was clipped and tight when she spoke. "You need to slow down, Mr Shimada."

He winced at the name. "I left that name behind a long time ago."

She sighed and cleaned up the discarded catheter. Fetching some gloves, tape and a new catheter and line she walked back over to the Japanese man. His breathing was ragged and he was failing to hide the pained lines on his brow. She tutted as she quickly cleaned his hand back up, and examined it. "Your hand is fine, though you almost blew your vein. I can't use this hand anymore, let me see your elbow."

He hesitated to offer it, knowing she was only trying to help, but also feeling quite vulnerable sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet dangling off the edge—how high was this thing?—and the blankets barely covering his lower half. He still had his underwear on to his relief, but without his loose robes he felt almost naked. The doctor huffed again.

"Look Hanzo, I'm not pleased with this situation, but you are my patient." She palpated the veins in the crook of his elbow, having gently forced his arm to where she needed it. "It is against my oath and my nature to ignore you." Satisfied, she fetched some wipes from a drawer across from the bed by a sink. She returned and turned his arm towards her again, straightening it to where she needed it.

He watched her put on gloves and wipe down his arm with a couple of alcoholic wipes. "Dr Ziegler…thank you."

She glanced up at him briefly as she palpated his veins again before choosing a decent one straining against his skin. She reached for the needle catheter. "I have conflicted feelings on this matter. I spent weeks slaving over your brother's body, keeping him alive. I succeeded, though barely." The venom in her voice stung more than the needle that she eased into his arm with a little more force than necessary. Waiting a moment to see some blood flow, she quickly removed the needle to leave the catheter in place, and fastened the tape to keep it from moving.

"So you can see why I have issues with you being here, Hanzo." She was tense as she hooked the catheter line back up to the IV, and frowned at the small droplets of wasted fluids on the ground. "Also, please do not do that again. These fluids are expensive and we do not have much budget to simply replace them whilly nilly." She looked up at him and her hardened bow softened somewhat at the amount of difficulty he was having with moving.

"I—I am deeply sorry for causing you conflict, doctor. I was not aware."

She nodded and leant over to pull a remote out of a holder attached to the bed. "This remote moves the bed. Here." She could see he was having difficulty, she felt the ache in her chest at denying herself when all she wanted to do was assist her patient. But how could she? He had almost killed his brother. She hadn't been lying when she had told him she had literally slaved over Genji's body for weeks, struggling to keep him alive, even with her breakthroughs with nanite technology at the time.

She handed him the remote and pivoted on her heel. The debriefing earlier in the afternoon had detailed the botched mission, with all four confirming that Hanzo had indeed attempted to assist them, before being thrown into combat with them and becoming gravely injured. Genji vouched that his brother wished to join their ragtag team, wanting to right his past wrongs and help people. Everyone knew what had happened to Genji, but only she knew that it was by his brother's hand. Other than the Overwatch commander's at the time, who were all dead at this point. He wanted to help his brother find the path to enlightenment. Which of course meant that the Swiss doctor was put in a conflicting position.

But she guessed she had saved the lives of both Shimada's at this point. It didn't stop the ache in her chest that almost tingled like betrayal; how could Genji just do this to her without warning? She sighed and shook her head, heading to the laboratory to work.

* * *

**Poor Angela, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Thanks for reading, and we'll see you guys in the next chapter!**


	4. Slippery When Wet

**Hello! **

**Very exciting character interactions ahead, if totally awkward. Poor cinnamon buns. **

**Disclaimer: Blizzard own Overwatch.**

* * *

Chapter Four: Slippery When Wet

Georgia re-entered the infirmary a few minutes later than she'd promised, but she was freshly showered, dressed and feeling cleaner and more refreshed than last night. She was also carrying two servings of what Torbjorn had concocted for dinner. She was humming as she opened and closed the door without managing to need to use her hands, but stopped when she looked over and saw Hanzo's bed was empty.

She set the two plates down on a tray and delved deeper, trying to search for the injured man. After a moment she heard the spray of a shower running, and noticed the bright light of the bathroom streaming out from under the closed door. Ah. She went back to his bed and grabbed her dinner, planning to eat while she waited for him to come back out. The stew her adopted father had made was hearty and flavourful, and did a superb job of quietening the growling of her stomach. She set her plate aside and leaned back in her chair, wrapping the strewn blanket back around her shoulders. She played with the ends of her damp hair as she waited.

Last night had been terrifying. As she had assisted Angela, she wondered if she had been kidding herself that she could be useful as a stand in for a real medical assistant. She was desperate to prove herself and let them send her out into the field, but did she have the resolve to continue training under Angela? What if more of the other agents came back the way Hanzo had? Or worse? She shuddered.

She sighed and checked her watch. She almost forgot she had it sometimes, but it was an antique analog with fraying leather straps and a sweet silver face. There were roman numerals instead of numbers, and the second hand ticked silently around slowly as the moments past. It was getting on into the evening, almost eight pm. She frowned and glanced at the infirmary bathroom. The shower was still running, and she couldn't really hear any sound from within. It was only a couple of metres away, but surely she should be able to hear the water splashing erratically or something? She shook her head a moment later. She was thinking too much into it, she knew.

Ten more minutes dragged out into eternity before she huffed and stood, marching over the door and knocking on it softly. "It's Georgia. You okay?" she folded her arms, waiting for an answer.

A minute passed before a muffled, masculine voice replied through the door, his tone strained. "No."

She paused. What would she be able to do anyway? She shook her head and cleared her throat. "Do you need help?"

She gulped. She prayed he said no. "I…yes." It was hard to tell through a door and the stream of a shower, but his muffled voice sounded almost embarrassed. She wasn't surprised. Genji was quite proud and private himself. She wondered what he had thought of her accidentally falling asleep on his arm earlier. He had probably been extremely offended.

She sighed and swiped her hand over the door's open pad. The door didn't budge. She swiped her hand again, growing frustrated. "Dammit all to heck. Athena?" she called the base's AI program.

"_Yes Agent Georgia?_" came the computerised female voice a moment later.

"Open the door."

"_I cannot_."

"Why not?" Georgia huffed indignantly.

"_You do not have the authorisation to request this door to be opened while it is occupied._ _This is standard medical bay protocol._"

Georgia grumbled. Of _course_ it was. She wasn't technically a member of the medical faculty, and was only a new recruit to boot. She didn't have much clearance where Athena was concerned. Winston had made sure of that. She sighed and leaned against the wall. "Thanks Athena. You can go." She waited a moment for the AI to disconnect from this particular room. "Hanzo, can you swipe the door from your side?"

There was little hope really, logically. If he could have had a shower by himself then he certainly could open the door for himself. "Unfortunately, no." came his quiet reply.

She cussed. She should get Angela. That was what she should do. She glanced back at the door and worried her lip. Her heart ached for the man on the other side of the door. The sheer humiliating feeling of having one person discover his predicament would surely be too much if she involved the doctor. Despite it being her patient and her job. Georgia knew her stomach would gnaw at her in guilt if she just walked away and left the issue to someone else. That wasn't how her moral compass operated unfortunately. She couldn't leave knowing she could do something to help.

"Hold on, I have an idea." She glanced at the door to the outer medical bay. "I'll be right back."

Without thinking too much about it, she slipped as quietly as she could out the door and across the medical bay towards Angela's office. She swiped the pad and the door slid back with a hiss. She winced. The doctor had so much trust she would leave her office open? Well she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, but she wondered if it would stay that way once she was done breaking the doctor's open invitation of trust. She searched the office but couldn't come up with anything on the surface. She tried the computer but it was locked with a passcode. She sat down for a moment and sighed before trying each of the drawers, glancing up at the door every few seconds.

A tense minute of rifling through drawers later she came up triumphant with having found the doctor's key card. It was a bit dusty and looked like it hadn't been used in decades, probably not since the creation of Athena, who could do everything of voice or fingerprint recognition. She hoped it would still work and trip the AI's programming. She hurried back to the bathroom in the infirmary.

/0*0\

Hanzo waited as the minutes ticked by. He gritted his teeth at the deep piercing ache in his chest underneath the bandage. He was sitting in the wet room's showering chair, the plastic hard against his legs and back. The IV stand was out of the way of the water, and the line was hanging between him and it. The exhaustion had seeped in after the amount of effort he had steeled himself through in order to get to the bathroom. He had at least managed to relieve himself and turn the shower on before collapsing into the plastic chair. He'd sat there for god knows how long, trying to will his sapped limbs into moving. And then a soft knock on the door had set his heart racing in panic, and the equally soft drawl coming from the other side had him gripping the arms of his chair in frustration.

He had wanted to send her away, to tell her he was fine, tell her he didn't need help. He didn't _want_ her help. He had opened his mouth to scorn her away when defeat and humiliation had spilled out words instead. And before he knew what was happening she had darted off and hadn't come back since.

Maybe she was going to get the doctor? That would be wise. He was at least twice her weight and injured; he would be difficult to move. He sighed as the hot water jetting out of the showerhead barely caught him in its crossfire. He hadn't even been able to get under the stream of water, and so was sitting in the cold plastic chair shivering slightly at the heated chill in the room.

Thank god he still had his undergarments on. Honestly he wouldn't have been able to live that one down if she or the doctor came back to help him. He wished the drain would open up and swallow him down along with the water that was swirling down it. He would feel infinitely better if it would. Then he wouldn't have to deal with…_this_. Whatever the hell _this_ was. He groaned and managed to lift a hand to run it over his greasy face, rubbing harshly at his skin to rid himself of his spiralling thoughts.

After an eternity alone with himself stewing in self-hatred and pity, a soft knock came from the other side of the door. He started. "I'm back." She warned a moment before the door beeped quietly and hissed aside. She hurriedly stepped in, towels and what looked like clothing in one hand and a small white card in the other. She set everything down on the closed toilet lid and glanced up at him as the door hissed shut. "Oh. Hi."

Well if that's all she could come up with he was doomed. To his silent relief though, she had somehow managed to come alone, despite the door not letting her through. Athena, or whatever she had called it. He cleared his throat. He pinched his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to organise his thoughts. If he had the strength, he would send her away now. He should thank her for the towels and make her leave. But he knew he had spent his energy getting here in the first place. She stood there twiddling her thumbs for a moment, before sighing. He glanced up at her.

He wished he hadn't. Her hair looked damp, like she had just had a shower herself not so long ago. The darkened honey strands fell in tendrils across her face as she shucked her boots and socks, and began unbuttoning her plaid over shirt.

His breathing hitched in alarm. "What are you doing?" his accent made him sound almost completely unfazed, but his eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat in panic as his grip tightened on the chair. Oh hell. He really _should_ have sent her away.

She looked up at him and caught his eye, green swimming with awkward certainty. "Helping you shower." Her voice was quiet, her drawl more pronounced than before. Their voices almost echoed in the small space.

Okay. Well. He hadn't been expecting that. She was a complete stranger to him and yet she dared to provide such intimate help? He wished she had brought the doctor back. At least that way he knew his embarrassment would have been brushed off. He knew she could see it. He was too tired to hide the way his neck flushed in agitation.

She had removed the shirt at this point to reveal a rose pink tank top, and was rolling her worn jeans up as far as they would go. He was thankful that the fabric refused to go past her knees. He watched her as she braided her hair loosely and wound it into a bun before randomly procuring a hair clip and securing it in place. He marvelled at the way the loose strands brushed down her shoulders and the sweep of her side fringe as she tucked it behind her ear. She fidgeted with her fingers a moment longer before she mumbled something under her breath and pulled a phone tablet out of her back pocket. A few taps and swipes and it was playing music softly. She set it down on the sink vanity, out of harm's way of the water. It was a nice distraction, to be able to focus on something other than the young woman in front of him.

She checked the IV machine first, reading something in the beeps and numbers that he couldn't. She glanced at him and bit her lip before checking the bags and following a particular line down, sliding a little blue wheel a fraction that was sticking out of a plastic rectangle encasing the line. "Upping the painkiller." She explained softly as she moved towards him, eyes darting everywhere except at him.

She moved slowly around him, placating hands and soft movements. He recognised the body language a few moments later as the way one would calm a startled animal. He grimaced. Is that what she saw? An animal? He didn't blame her if she did. But the implication still stung, even if they weren't far from the truth.

She lifted the shower head out of its holder and, taking advantage of the hose line attaching it to the wall, brought it over to him instead of trying to get him to move. He gasped at the sudden change in temperature on his skin, the hot water cascading over his head, neck and shoulders. The music and the movements of her hands seemed to almost put her into a trance. She moved more confidently with the shower hose in her hands, wetting him down, thoroughly soaking his stiff, blood-crusted hair until it was plastered to his neck and face. He closed his eyes and ducked his head down. The water felt like heaven against his dirty, weary body. It was like a cleansing, and he hadn't even soaped yet.

She replaced the shower head on the wall and he looked up. She was dispensing a ton of what looked like soap into her hands from a container on the wall. She glanced over apologetically. "Sorry, it's standard hospital soap. But it'll do the job." He didn't care as long as he got clean. It had been a few days now since he'd had a shower. She came over and dumped it on his shoulders before hesitantly beginning to rub it in. He tensed, gritting his teeth subconsciously. She scrubbed as best she could with his palms and nails, and he had to subdue the shivers as she raked over his shoulders and back. She lingered over his tattoo, and he noticed her staring at it out of the corner of his eye.

He felt the spirits of the dragons that rested within the tattoos, within _him_, stir as she began delicately washing down that arm. He bit the inside of his cheek until he drew blood, and then bit down harder. No one, _no one_, had ever touched his tattoo the way she was right now. He hadn't let anyone get close. And the dragons themselves sure as heck hadn't responded to anyone other than him with any kind of neutral or positive energy before. His dragons were… extremely aggressive, simply put. But he could _feel _them almost purr under her delicate ministrations with a kind of familiarity that came from having met the kind display previously. What on earth had she _done_ to his dragons? He knew she wouldn't be able to hear or feel or even see it, but the pair of them hummed and growled softly as she rubbed down his arm, eyes fixated on the tattoo, on the pair to swirling dragons fixed into his skin eternally.

He gulped. Did she know? Did she have a sort of…otherworldly sense? Like him? It had taken years of meditating and training to unlock his chi in this way, to become in tune with the spirit world and be able to touch it unharmed. Could she do the same thing?

He started as she reached his hand and started massaging the back of it, teasing out the tenseness in his fingers. He cleared his throat and snatched his hand away, averting his gaze to avoid her eyes. She also seemed startled at his sudden jerky movement, and hurriedly turned away and retreated into the corner. She returned a moment later and dumped some more soap into his hands this time, and he silently understood. He quietly began washing his chest and legs as far as he could while she rinsed her hands briefly and walked over to her phone, mumbling about a certain song that was playing. He hadn't even really been paying attention to any of the lyrics after he had recognised the style of music as country.

She returned with more soap after a moment, and he wondered if he really looked as bad as she seemed to be implying. But he understood when she started massaging it through his tangled hair, working through the strands and working out the blood. He realised as he looked down that he couldn't actually wash his chest much more due to the huge waterproof bandage, and so he had nothing to do once he'd reached down his legs as far as he was able to. She continue to drag her short nails over his scalp, working out knots and working through the tension in his neck as well.

He didn't want to fidget with his hands, and he was trying to ignore the whines of the dragons as she continued her ministrations. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back slightly as she gently washed his hair. When was the last time he'd had this done? An age ago. He'd forgotten how good a head massage could feel, even if that wasn't her intended purpose. It was a pleasant side effect as she continued on, humming and singing softly under her breath.

It struck him then, as he sat there silently, that she was one hell of a woman. A very unique, headstrong, clever woman. He barely knew her and yet here she was, washing a strange man's hair after saving his life the day before. Breaking into the bathroom to assist him no less. He hadn't even expected her to keep her word that she would come back. He thought he had scared her off.

"I don't scare very easily." She said softly.

His eyes shot open and he twisted to see her, grimacing as his chest ached and pulled with the movement. "I am sorry, I did not intend to speak my thoughts aloud."

"It's fine, really. I mean, this _is_ a weird situation." She sighed, though he swore it was shaky as she drew in another breath to speak.

He thought she would comment further about something to do with the predicament between them, but she surprised him further. "Though, not too weird for me." Her tone was hushed and sombre as she spoke, as if any louder would break the moment. "I used to wash my dad's hair when he got injured after a mission. He was very talented at dishing out bullets, but he was also reckless. He earned a fair few when Overwatch was still active."

Hanzo frowned. "But after the Omnic Crisis…there was not much fighting aside from civil rights activists and rebellions." There was a sort of relief that settled over his chest. She must just look years younger than she was. If her father was part of Overwatch back then…then he didn't feel as awful.

She sighed. "You've heard about Blackwatch?"

"In parts. It was part of what caused the world to protest Overwatch in the first place."

"My dad was part of that. He was recruited from a gang instead of being sent to jail. He mostly took the offer for me. I was only a baby at the time, so I would have been orphaned otherwise."

Hanzo nodded sagely. "Was your mother taken by the war?" He had only been a child at the tail end of the Omnic Crisis. His own mother hadn't been lost to the war per se, but she had died of complications during childbirth with his younger brother. He knew the feeling.

To his surprise, she scoffed angrily. "No. She's still alive and kicking, as far as I'm aware. She and my dad started the gang he was a part of." She sighed sadly. "I didn't fit with the lifestyle."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm not. I was practically raised by everyone here. There are a couple of people missing…but yeah. I'm glad I'm here instead of god knows where."

Curiosity burned in his chest. "Is your father…?"

"Hm. No he's alive, but he disappeared before Overwatch was disbanded. I was eleven. I hated him so much for it, but now…I just want to see him again. But I don't know if I ever will."

He froze. He did the math. If she was eleven almost ten years ago…his hope shattered. She was practically a child. He was old enough to be her father's age. His stomach knotted sickeningly. The dragons however, didn't seem to care about that at all. They continued to hum, obviously affected by her saddened mood. He gritted his teeth at them in annoyance.

"I tried asking Genji about helping me track my dad down, but he refused." She settled into silence, and Hanzo twitched. His brother? Why would she ask his brother?

"Why…Genji?" Hanzo asked hesitantly as she stepped back and reached for the shower hose again, intent on rinsing the soap away. He shuddered as the hot stream beat a steady pressure against his scalp, and he closed his eyes and tipped his head back again as she used her free hand to help with the rinsing.

"He was part of my dad's unit. And he's scarily good at tracking people down."

She wasn't wrong about the second part. He was quite for a long time. "He was—_is_ my brother."

He felt the jerk on his hair and a brief splash on his face from her sudden reaction. "Wow. I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"You weren't aware." He muttered quietly. She resumed rinsing his hair off before giving him the hose to rinse the rest as he saw fit. She turned away from him, and he was grateful. This had already dragged on longer than he imagined it would. He hissed in frustration as the dragons whined at her retreat. Apparently they enjoyed his hair being washed too. _Too?_ Good lord what was wrong with him?

He cleared his throat once he was finished, and she kept her head ducked down as she took it off him and shut the water off. He blinked. The sudden absence of the beating of the water on the tiles made the room eerily silent except for her music still playing. He was grateful for it; it filled the quiet room so neither of them had to. She handed him a towel, another in her hand. He went to wrap it around his shoulders but grunted in pain as his wound protested. He could barely lift his arms above his shoulder height to swing the towel around, but she swiftly came to his aid again, doing it for him. She squeezed his hair out gently, removing the excess water before towelling it carefully. It amazed him how gentle she had been throughout this whole ordeal. She hadn't rushed any movements despite her clear discomfort at the situation, she hadn't hurt him at all in fact. She wasn't kidding when she said she'd done this before. Although, he doubted she had done more than wash her father's hair for him, unlike with him. Bullet wounds were slightly more forgiving than gaping chest wounds.

Georgia stood there for a long while simply towelling Hanzo's hair, the actions coming back to her muscles without skipping a beat. It made her cringe to think how often she'd taken care of her father after missions, how often he had come back in need of medical repair. How dismissive he had been about his wounds. She was by no means a woman of faith, but every time he had stepped out the door she had sent a silent prayer heavenward that he would just come home safe. That he would come back to her, his family. When he had walked out on her for good, she had pleaded with the heavens to bring him back. She was still waiting for that one to be answered.

She wondered if it ever would be.

She sighed and handed him the towel she was holding, immediately going to comb her fingers through his hair to work the knots out. She made sure to be gentle. She didn't want to either hurt or startle him. She hummed along to the music quietly, singing occasionally to fill the silence so she didn't have to speak. She wouldn't have known what to say anyway.

She was broken out of her rhythmic lull by Hanzo's mumbles, but she only caught the last word. "Hair band? Like a hair tie?"

He sighed. "Mine broke when the mission I intercepted when…awry, and I became injured."

She dug through her damp jeans pocket and pulled out one of her spares. "I have this one, but it's purple."

He huffed. "It will do…thank you."

She smiled and worked on pulling his hair slowly back into a high ponytail. Hair had a way of finding where it was familiar with, if the same style was used all the time. She tied it off quickly, noting that the inky black of his hair was peppered with grey at the side flares by his ears. Only a few locks fell out of the pony tail to frame the right side of his face. She turned away as he attempted to dry himself as best as he could. She bit her lip, eyeing the spare pair of standard issue grey tracksuits sitting innocently on the closed lid of the toilet seat, where she had first put them down.

No, Georgia wasn't a woman of any faith, but in that moment she looked up and prayed silently that they could somehow fumble through the next bit without dying of humiliation. She heard him still in the chair, panting slightly with the effort, and wondered if he could even manage the next bit. She picked up the pair of trackpants and stepped back over to him, bare feet silent on the grippy tiles. She shifted from foot to foot until he looked up at her, getting the hint immediately, and averted his gaze just as quick. She didn't fail to notice the way his neck reddened slightly.

"You can use my shoulder to brace yourself if you need it." She offered quietly.

He nodded in resignation. He wasn't going to be able to do this by himself. He gripped her offered arm, and she leaned away from him as he used her body to leverage his into a standing position. To his credit his legs didn't wobble or give way underneath him, but they were weak, and he grimaced in sheer determination. With the hand that wasn't gripping her forearm in a vicelike hold, he awkwardly worked his sopping undergarments to the floor, hyperaware of her standing next to him. To her credit, her gaze was fixed at the wall behind his head, and they shuffled slowly across the wet floor to dry before she handed him the pants.

By some form of miracle, he managed through some skilled ninja tricks she was sure, to get the replacement pants on. She readjusted his arm to sling around her shoulders, and he grabbed the IV stand with the other. The trek back to his bed was slow going but steady, and he marvelled at the strength in her slight frame. His arm wrapped around her shoulders easily, and hers wrapped around his waist to support his weight. She slotted next to him seamlessly. She helped him sit down on his bed without ripping out any of the IV lines, and tucked the stand out of his way at the head of the bed, and organised the line around him to he wouldn't rip it out in his sleep.

He shuffled back awkwardly, flinching at his wound wracked his chest with dull pain, as he heaved his legs up onto the bed. He laid back, panting, and just stared at the ceiling to catch his breath. She somehow came back around and pulled the blankets over him without him realising it until he was lightly tucked in under a couple of layers of cottony warmth, and he looked over to her, mouth open but not sure what to say. He certainly didn't have any words forming when she shucked her damp jeans and climbed into the bed next to his after grabbing her plaid chair blanket.

He gulped and willed the sudden flush on his cheeks away, the sight of her even more scantily clad heating his face up. "What are you doing?"

She sighed and sunk into the supple mattress of her bed. "I always hated the infirmary." She mumbled. "So I won't leave you alone here tonight. Trust me, the infirmary sucks." At least he didn't have beeping machines tonight.

"I—thank you." There wasn't really anything he could say. She seemed to already be falling asleep.

"Mmm…no problem. I brought you dinner but it's probably cold. Sorry." She snuggled under her blankets. "Athena, dim the lights." A moment later the lights dimmed until he could barely see her, except for her frame outlined by the soft white glow.

He sighed and settled back against his own bed, staring at the darkened ceiling. He frowned as his stomach grumbled, and glanced around for said food that she had brought. He spied two bowls, one empty and one full, on the tray next him. He stretched out his arm and managed to grab said full bowl without spilling it, and sat up a little to eat. It was stone cold, but surprisingly flavourful and filling. He would have to thank her in the morning. He was a bit surprised that she was already asleep again, considering she'd slept the whole day. Hanzo shrugged and replaced the bowl on the tray and leaned back again.

/0*0\

Georgia, in all honesty, pretended to sleep to avoid potentially dying of mortification. She was far from tired, but the thought of talking to him further felt like the wrong note to leave it on. He probably needed the peace and quiet to burn the embarrassment of needing help out of his mind. She smiled slightly when she noticed Hanzo eat the dinner she had brought. She took the opportunity to watch him. She could barely make out his profile in the dark, but she saw he was on his back. Probably counting the tiles in the ceiling.

A few minutes passed and the infirmary door hissed sideways. Hanzo glanced left abruptly, and Georgia froze, willing the sudden adrenaline rush away. Neither of them had apparently expected company this late in the evening. Her eyes widened as the brief window of light pooled behind the figure of their resident cybernetic ninja as he softly padded into the room. The door slipped closed a moment later, plunging them all into the dimmed darkness once more. Her heart stammered. She suddenly wished she was asleep for this. Genji was probably here to talk to Hanzo. His…brother. Gods what an odd thought. Not in all of her memory could she remember the man mentioning a brother. Not that is was any child's business, but he was practically an uncle to her, having been her father's best friend.

"Hanzo." His voice was careful and tentative.

Hanzo shifted on the mattress. "Genji." She noted his voice was deeper than his brother's. It was interesting to hear them speak to each other.

They were silent for a moment. "Genji I—if I had known that you—"

"I know, brother." He paused for a beat, cocking his head as his cybernetic joint pistons hissed slightly. "I know you saved us from a worse fate in that warehouse. Thank you."

Hanzo inclined his head, his hand absentmindedly going to his chest. "Brother…"

"There are other ways to seek redemption than your own death, brother." Genji interjected quietly.

Wait. Hanzo was trying to seek his death? Said man sighed. "I have thought about your proposal. It is time I chose a side."

The cybernetic brother hummed. Georgia tuned out the conversation at that point. They switched between English and their native tongue, conversing for the next few hours and bouncing around so many different topics she wouldn't have been able to keep up. Eventually she did drift off to sleep late into the night to the sound of quiet voices dancing around her.

* * *

**Thanks for reading to the end, if you're still here. That was pretty awkward. Poor cinnamon rolls that they are. **

**Hopefully we'll see you in the next installment!**


	5. Dragons in the Kitchen

**Hello again, we're back! Thanks so much for the follows and faves, they mean a lot! It's also been a bit surprising how much traffic this little fic has gotten. **

**Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch.**

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Chapter Five: Dragons in the Kitchen

After a week Angela finally let Hanzo out of the infirmary, satisfied with his rate of progress. The gaping, stitched wound was reduced to an angry red series of slivers. Something about nanite diluted fluid to improve the time it took to heal. Genji showed him to the sleeping quarters of the base, where he chose a room. He was still wearing the same grey trackpants that Georgia had found for him, and he desperately needed another shower. Without assistance this time.

The room was bare, the floor a cool linoleum and the furniture accented with smart metal lines. The whole décor was grey, light grey, dark grey, sky grey. The only splash of colour was the yellow of the top blanket on the bed. What caught his eye however, was the familiar black leather case on the stark desk in the corner. His eyes widened and he strode over, unclasping the silver buckles and flipping the lid. Genji shifted awkwardly for the first time behind him.

"I picked it up in the…aftermath. I managed to find your case too." His quiver was there as well.

He glanced up at his brother, his eyes shiny for the first time in a long time. He bowed his chin in thanks. Genji dipped his in kind, accepting the thanks. Hanzo grazed his fingers over the carbon and wood of his storm bow fondly. Genji had even taken it apart to fit properly inside the case. Hanzo took ten minutes to have a shower and chuck on some new borrowed clothes which were a slightly uncomfortable fit. They carried on with the mini tour, Genji showing his brother the kitchen, meeting room, and break room among others.

"Down the hall and off the right is the practice range." Genji said as they passed through yet another corridor. Hanzo nodded. He would have to go there at some point. He needed to see how much the damage to his chest affected his bow work.

/0*0\

Georgia pushed Brigitte playfully in the shoulder. The older girl was giggling at the southerner's expense, and it was doing her head in. She'd finally convinced her to peel herself away from the workshop and join her at the practice range. She had her gun cocked, and fired off a shot at a nearby paper target out of annoyance, vaguely noting the bullet going through the centre of said target. Her instinctual aiming was improving.

Brigitte wiped away tears of laughter from her eyes and smirked at the younger girl, her shoulders shaking silently at her. "Oh it's a bit funny."

"It is _not_." Georgia's cheeks flushed a bright crimson and she fired off another shot, grumbling under her breath. It had been funny at first. But now the older girl was taking it a bit too far.

"Can you imagine if anyone found out—ohmygod papa would _kill_ you!" Brigitte chuckled and half-heartedly whipped her flail around at a training dummy, sending it clunking to the ground. Even when not taking training seriously, the new shieldmaiden was a force to be reckoned with.

Georgia groaned. "I _know _that Brig. You can't tell anyone. Angela would never let me back into the medical bay again."

"You 'borrowed' her old key card to help a strange man in the shower." Brigitte gave her a pointed look, arched brow and all. The mirth was gone from her expression, seriousness taking over yet again. "Then you spent the night in the infirmary."

"I know." BANG.

"He's Genji's brother." Brigitte glanced at the target.

"I know." BANG. This was suddenly turning into a lecture—one she had already given herself over and over again.

"He hurt your dad's best friend." Brigitte said softly.

Georgia emptied the rest of her clip into the target, and it fluttered to the ground, tattered. She gritted her teeth and avoided her sister's gaze by reloading Peacemaker. "I _know_. I know." She'd been taking him meals after the night she had overheard him and his brother talking, but she hadn't kept him company at night since. She knew Genji had been injured by his brother, she'd overheard a conversation or two between the ninja and her father years ago, but to have just jumped into this whole mess without thinking…she'd helped the man who had almost killed her adopted uncle. She still had mixed feelings about the whole thing.

He drew her in, his mysterious air and quiet thoughts written in his eyes. And yet…he'd done something almost unspeakably sinful. To wish harm to his own brother…She shook her head. Genji had forgiven him, it seemed. It was hard for her. The memories she had of her father and him she held fondly in her heart. To have met the man who had caused him such pain…and to be almost attracted to such a man too…_ugh_.

"I don't know. I barely know him. But Genji seems to have forgiven him. And they're really chummy whenever I see them…I guess—I don't know."

"Papa will kill Hanzo if he knows you have a crush on him."

Georgia cringed at Brigitte's warning tone. She knew that. Lord she did. She was almost thankful her dad wasn't here in that moment. What Torbjorn could do to Hanzo was nothing compared to what the sharpshooting gunslinger would do to him. If anything happened. Which it wouldn't.

"I know Brig, I know. Geez. Can't a girl have her crush and dream a little? It's not like I've had the most normal life you know."

"I know Gee Gee." She smiled slyly. "Those boys back home were a pretty breath of normal though."

Georgia shot her a smile, glad the conversation had turned lighter. And away from the mysterious Japanese assassin. "I learnt a thing or two." She shrugged. "But they learnt a hellova lot more than they bargained for."

Brigitte chuckled, glad her sister was feeling better. It was awful to see her thoughts so morose. "Good thing papa never found out."

Georgia cringed. "He found out about one of them." She set Peacemaker back in its holster and sat on a crate nearby, watching as her sister ran through some drills with her flail and shield.

Brigitte turned to her briefly, eyes wide in disbelief. "No! I never heard anything."

Georgia shrugged. "I guess he didn't want to cause a scene? But safe to say I never saw that boy again."

Brigitte shook her head. "You're incorrigible."

"You're no better." Georgia flipped her hair, combing her fingers through it, making mini braids as she went. "What about that one…what was his name? Ivan?"

The elder girl groaned. "Don't remind me. We almost got caught by _Reinhardt_, of all people. Pretty sure he'd do more damage than papa could."

"You liked him more than a fling though." Georgia offered gently. They didn't often talk about boys. And while Georgia could separate her heart from the matter when she wanted a good time, Brigitte couldn't. She did everything with her whole heart and mind tossed in together, shaking everything up into a big, skewed bowl of salad. Sometimes the salad was fantastic, and sometimes it came out a little worse for wear. Ivan had meant something a little more than just fooling around.

Brigitte nodded sadly. They'd snuck around for months. The only thing that had stopped the whole thing had been the Overwatch recall. She would follow Reinhardt anywhere. "I think I might have even loved him."

Georgia hopped off her crate and padded over to her sister, wrapping her arms comfortingly around her neck, bringing the slightly taller girl down into the crook of her neck. Brigitte wrapped her arms around her sister in kind, small tears shedding themselves for the first time over the boy she had left behind to follow her family. Yes. Brigitte threw her whole self into things. And sometimes she came out a little bit messy on the other side.

But that's why Georgia was there, patching her back up with the silent strength she hid beneath the surface. She would be strong enough for her sister when she needed it. Brigitte had been there when she had been a complete and utter mess after her dad had abandoned her. She would be a pillar of reliability for her sister in turn.

"You'll see him again. I promise."

"How do you know that?" came the snuffled reply from her damp shoulder.

"Call it southern intuition." Georgia patter her sister's back and rubbed comforting circles until the quiet sobbing subsided. "C'mon, I have to put dinner on. You know how Torb gets when dinner's late." Brigitte chuckled and withdrew, her eyes a little red and her cheeks tearstained, but otherwise more or less intact. She nodded and followed the gunslinger out of the practice range and down to the kitchen.

/0*0\

Hanzo hurriedly ducked into a side door among the range's buildings as the girls wandered past, completely unaware of his presence. He hadn't meant to overhear anything. He clutched his bow tightly in his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. Dear spirits. He hadn't known Genji was the best friend of her father. He should have guessed something like that though. The way Genji treated her like a long lost family member; he was very fond of her. And she was always happy in his presence.

And yet while she always found a way to reminisce about her father…Genji avoided the topic like the plague. After her mention of him and Genji being in the same Blackwatch unit, he'd broached the topic to try and understand Genji's life after their…fight. He'd been shut down immediately, and he could tell his brother was tiring of the topic. He didn't want to talk about their little gunslinger's father.

His heart hammering a little bit, he waited a few minutes before exiting the practice range after them. He didn't feel like practicing anymore.

/0*0\

Georgia was singing unabashedly along with her music as she cooked dinner alone in the kitchen/dining room. She was scraping together something from the small amount of what they had left in the cupboards. She was currently unaware she had an audience of one.

Hanzo watched as she danced about seamlessly between the countertops and the oven, ingredients and cooking utensils in her hands. It was an upbeat tune, dance-worthy even, though he was sure she would make any song dance-worthy. She was tapping out the beat on her thighs with the wooden spoon and he could hear the steady clip of her boots on the tile floor. He felt shame, watching her there when she was not aware of his presence. But she was an enigma to him. Someone who had been through as much as her had more right to feel bitter and resentment. He also liked listening to her voice.

The next song flicked on, and Georgia flipped around to grab some more of the mushrooms she'd just chopped. She recognised it instantly, smiling coyly to herself. She swayed around, using her wooden spoon as a microphone and using the opportunity to sing to the empty dining room, pausing every now and then to attend the pot, but jumping back into the next lyric without hesitation.

Hanzo watched her. She was so confusing, except when she thought she was the only one in the room. She was herself, truly herself, when she was alone. She still had her gun strapped to her hip, he noticed when she danced away from the benchtop briefly. She was bubbly, clever, sensuous and, the more he stood there smelling the aroma of her cooking, a spectacular chef. She was a lithe little ball of danger wrapped up in a shiny bow of temptation. His dragons swirled around him, blue ethereal shedding a glow only he could see, and he had to agree with them in that moment. In that moment she looked like a woman, and not the child everyone else saw her as. He guessed he had the benefit of having skipped out on her childhood, knowing that if he hadn't, he would have slapped himself in the face by now for his thoughts and his behaviours.

After that first—second?—night in the infirmary when his brother had come to speak to him, she had only brought him meals and small conversation. They'd known each other scarcely more than a week. And he would have continued on obliviously, pushing his thoughts aside easily and reprimanding his dragons, except for the fact he had overheard a conversation he knew he shouldn't have. He was certain that his thoughts were purely physical—his dragons kept annoying him on that point, whining at him in dismay. They clearly saw more to her than he did. And dammit he _had_ overheard her and her sister talking. It was hard to put the way she had alluded to her conquests out of his mind.

The pair of blue dragons were rolling and dipping with the music at this point, lulled by her singing. Had she any idea what she was doing? She was unapologetically herself in this moment, no walls thrown up, no stories to hide behind. And she was charming the scales off of them. It irritated him. How much control he had lost over them the last week, and no amount of meditating would placate them. They _liked_ her. They wanted to be around her. Normally they just wanted to eat people, so this was a bewildering difference. And he wasn't sure how to handle it.

"_C'mon fall into me, into my arms, let me wrap you up with this southern b—_HOLY SHIT MOTHERFUCKING—" she abruptly cut herself off, and the sudden outburst startled him. He glanced up in time to avoid a wooden spoon to the face, which thudded heavily into the wall behind him. His eyes widened.

She was gaping, raking a hand through her hair, shaking. But her other hand was steadfastly aimed in his direction, Peacemaker primed and ready to start smoking. He threw his hands up in surrender. "I am sorry for intruding, I did not mean to—" but he broke off as he realised she wasn't looking at _him_.

She was looking _beside_ him. He glanced right. Oh. _Oh_. One of the dragons was hovering, watching her intently, torn between countering her attack on his master, and purring in greeting. "Hanzo, you have—what the _fuck—_dragons?"

He slowly stepped towards her, wary of her gun and the way it focused on him as he drew closer. "Georgia, please, put the gun down." She was focussed on the pair of blue ethereal heads hovering behind him as he approached, but his calming attempt seemed to have done the trick. She lowered the gun carefully, putting the safety back on and holstering it.

His hands were still spread out in a peaceful gesture, and she glanced at him, eyes soft yet uncertain. "Can I…?" he cocked a brow at her half-question, before realising what she meant.

"I…they do not have any true mass. They are…spirits." He struggled to find the words to make her understand. "They normally attack anyone who threatens me, so I am unsure…" but he needn't have worried too much. Georgia reached out a tentative fist for them to sniff. He almost chuckled, knowing the gesture pointless because of their nature as spirits, and not living, breathing animals. But they shocked him in turn, slinking forward in the air to sniff her outstretched fist before humming and slinking their bodies around hers.

She gasped and looked up at him, terrified and exhilarated. "They're warm!"

He smirked. "It is their energy."

She suddenly giggled madly, and he arched a brow, apparently having missed the joke. "Oh, nothing. Just an old internet thing about dragons in the kitchen." She giggled some more before frowning and sniffing.

He sniffed too, and watched her face quickly despair at the current burning smell emanating from the pot. The dragons pulled away from her to give her space, not as alarmed as he at the sudden darting movements of her sprinting around the bench island to the pot. She picked up another wooden spoon from a draw and stirred the contents worriedly.

After a moment she sighed. "Well, it won't be as good as I had intended. But it's still edible at least."

"Is there anything I can help with?" he asked hesitantly.

"Sure." She glanced up at him. "You can finish chopping the vegetables." She gestured towards the unchopped assortment of said vegetables beside her. "Oh, and Hanzo?"

"Hm?" he looked up at her from his station, the two blue dragons dancing between them as her music continued to play in the background.

"Don't sneak up on people in the future. It's bad manners." She smiled softly at him. The dragons chuffed between them, almost joining in with the conversation. He nodded, not trusting his voice to find the right words to say.

They spent the rest of the time prepping dinner in companionable silence. She would jump occasionally as one of the dragons slithered past her, her mind still blown that the stoic assassin had _freaking dragons_, but they hadn't hurt her so far. She figured if she played it as cool as she could without losing her damn mind, she might not scare him off. They seemed special to him. She didn't want to alienate him by, god forbid, telling him his dragons were bloody scary. They glowed blue and were translucent embodiment of spirits, for god's sake. But they _were_ warm, and that kind of almost made her feel fuzzy inside.

/0*0\

Dinner was a chaotic affair, Hanzo decided as retired to his room for the night. He shucked the casual clothes he'd found in the drawers in the laundry basket. He needed new clothes. All these ones had the Overwatch logo on the side. He was down to his undergarments again and debating whether to meditate or go straight to bed when there was a knock on his door. He sighed under his breath and hurriedly pulled his borrowed clothes back on before pressing the pad next to the door.

It hissed aside to reveal Georgia. She was leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest, her hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back. She glanced up at him. "Hey."

He nodded, not sure what to say. They'd just seen each other at dinner. He could feel his dragons humming beneath his skin again, and before he could rein them in they emerged from the tattoo slowly. She started a little at their appearance, but quickly schooled her features and looked back up at his face.

"I have to do a town run tomorrow. Brig usually joins me but she's running drills with Reinhardt. Wanna join me?"

He arched a brow. "Go into town? What for?" he was under the impression they weren't meant to leave the base. For secrecies' sake.

She arched a brow in kind and stood up from the door frame, arms still crossed. "Groceries, mostly. But I thought you might like some new clothes?" she nodded at him, but he knew she meant the borrowed, poorly fitting, standard issue Overwatch casuals.

He grimaced. He honestly did need new clothes. "Very well. I shall join you."

She brightened considerably. "Great, I'll meet you at the vehicle hanger around 7 am tomorrow morning?"

He nodded. "That sounds reasonable." She smiled and bid him goodnight. He watched her go, honeyed hair swaying as she walked.

* * *

**To be honest I'm kind of digging the dragon's personalities. I still haven't thought of names for them at this point, but half the time the act like either cats or dogs. So it's hard to pin an appropriate name to two fearsome creatures who seem to be happy just sunning themselves, or biting someone's head off? I dunno. **

**But thank you for reading if you are still here, and we'll see you next time :) **


	6. Tea and Teapots

**We're back with the next chapter! And so soon too. I've been trying to roughly keep them a week apart in order to have a couple ready to go as a buffer for myself, but I'm way ahead right now. So I figured why not. **

**There have been a few favourites and follows for this too, which means a lot! So thank you. **

**Disclaimer: **

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Chapter Six: Tea and Teapots

Despite the music chiming through the radio in the dashboard, Hanzo noted Georgia was unusually quiet. His dragons had become extremely comfortable between them, lounging on the central comm and purring at the occasional pat she gave them as she shifted gears. They were in an Overwatch van stripped of logos and anything that may relate them back to the now illegal organisation. There were photos pinned to the sun shade visors above them, and some stuck to the dashboard itself. They were mostly of her with other people, much younger versions of their current selves. He saw his brother amongst them, with Brigitte and her adopted family as well. And one of the entire team, Blackwatch included. There was one that caught his eye.

It was a faded sepia tone, tattered around the corners, but it was closest to her on the dash. There were only two figures, one a young man in a cowboy hat, dark hair curling out from underneath the brim. Even through the faded state of the picture, he could see the unadulterated pride in his eyes as he held a baby of about one. The baby was wearing a little dress, so he assumed it to be a girl. She had a wisp of dark hair on top of her head, and was focused on the stubble of the man's chin, mouth wide in a pure, happy smile. It was a heart-warming image, one that he bitterly wished had been a part of his own childhood.

"That's my dad." Came the almost inaudible whisper. He glanced over at her, and the two blue dragons whimpered at her heart-breaking tone. There were tears at the edge of her eyes, threatening to spill over, but she focused on the road ahead. Hanzo simply nodded his acknowledgment. "That was the day he officially became Blackwatch, and we were safe from all the gang shit in the south."

"I see." Hanzo frowned, but more out of sadness for her than anything else.

"He kept that picture in his pocket when he went away on missions. To remind him of me." She snuffled. "The day he left, that picture was on my bed along with his favourite serape and his black cowboy hat. He didn't even leave a letter."

Hanzo glared at the man in the picture. How could he leave her behind? A ten year old, who if not for the kindness of the Lindholm's, would have surely been shipped off to an orphanage. He must have had extremely good reasons to stay away for so long. And not answer the Recall.

They lulled back into silence, the drive down to the town of Gibraltar passing uneventfully. Shops and cars passed them by as she drove to her destination, and they were lost in a seemingly winding maze of streets by the time she pulled over and parked. He glanced outside; they were outside a clothes store. His dragons slipped silently back into his tattoos as he opened his door and disembarked onto the footpath. She rummaged around in the glove compartment for a moment before pulling something out and sliding out of the van herself.

The sun was peaking higher over the buildings at this point, and he turned to her. She was wearing her soft leather boots and worn jeans, with a baby pink button up shirt over a plain white tank top. Her hair was loose in the slight breeze, and she raked her free hand through it as she came over to his side, handing him something.

He took it, and noted it was a worn, plain envelope. It had weight to it, and he peeked inside. His eyes widened at the amount of dollar bills that peeked back at him. "I can't accept this." He made to give it back, but she had already turned away from him.

"I'll see you in an hour. I have to go see a mechanic about some parts for Torb, and a few other things. I'll pick you back up when I go on the grocery run. That'll need two pairs of hands." She climbed back up into van and drove away, leaving him standing there in uncomfortable clothes with a heavy envelope in his hands, and a clothing store behind him.

/0*0\

Georgia moseyed down the street towards the store she'd left Hanzo at. She'd taken her time, leaving him there for an extra half hour. Mostly it was to collect her thoughts, but it was partially to give him time to choose something he liked. She parked up, and looked about. She caught his eye at the same time he noticed the van, and her breath hitched. He definitely had dark side of the moon aloofness and tall, dark and handsome down pat when he was wearing his own clothes. He had two bags in his hands, and he appeared much more comfortable in the casual jeans, tshirt and jacket he'd picked out. She noticed he had a new hair band as he climbed up into the van, and a small, black patterned sash type of material that fluttered down to the collar of his jacket.

She quirked a brow and her lips stretched into a lopsided grin as he settled in and buckled up. Now _this_ was a useful distraction from her wayward thoughts. He shifted under her gaze and she slipped the van into drive, pulling out into the stream of traffic. "Well looks like you had a good time."

He cleared his throat. "It is pleasant to be wearing clothes that fit. Even if they are not what I am used to."

"Not your robe things?"

He shook his head. "I found something similar to my traditional attire. It will do." He frowned in thought. "Would Torbjorn be willing to make me a new pair of greaves? My last ones were…unsalvageable."

She knew what he meant. They'd had to basically cut every part of his armour and clothing away from him in order to operate properly. "If you ask nicely, sure."

He noted she was actively searching the roads for something. Her gaze was intent, brow knitted in concentration. She was slightly pitched forward in the seat. He averted his gaze out the side window, thankful his new jacket could hide the flush on his neck. "What are you looking for? The supermarket?"

"No, no…something else. Which street was it…? Hm…Ah ha, here we are!" she smiled triumphantly and indicated, turning down a side street. He watched her expertly move through the gears, her hand working in tandem with her foot on the clutch. The van smoothed around at her command. He wondered briefly if he should have, at some point, learned to drive. He'd never had a need in his youth, being trained as a ninja assassin leant him rooftops and other means of getting around. And he'd always used planes or public transport if walking couldn't suffice. As he grew older, excommunicated from the Shimada clan, it had been the furthest thing on his mind. But the way they coaxed down the street easily, he wondered if he should have learned. Driving seemed to reduce the travel time from point a to b considerably.

She parked yet again, wrenching the handbrake up and unclipping herself from her seat. He followed suit, leaving his new bags of clothes behind. He glanced around as he shut the van door. This side street was quiet, barely a car or two passed them as he followed her. She stopped outside of what looked to be a coffee shop, with quaint tables and chairs outside, and a simple sign swinging that read 'The Perfect Shot'.

Apprehensively, he stepped after her as she opened the door and practically skipped in enthusiastically. There were a few people seated around the small café, enjoying their various brews. The heady scent of coffee grinds and caramalised milk wafted around him.

"Hey Carter!" she said to the young man behind the counter. He was a lean twig of a thing, with a shock of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He looked up at the greeting, a smile and a faint blush on his lips.

"Oh, hey Georgia. No Brig today?" he looked about. Ah. He must have assumed Hanzo wasn't the one with her today. He seemed to prime at that, standing straight and dusting some grinds off his apron and slicked a hand through his hair.

Hanzo rolled his eyes. "No, just Hanzo." She gestured to him and reached out a hand to touch his elbow softly. The heat, even through the thick material of his jacket, sparked a jolt out of him. He schooled his features and inclined his head to the poor boy serving them. He seemed to visibly deflate at the sight of the stoic assassin. He tried not to feel too pleased with himself at that.

"Ah, all righty. Um, so the usual?"

"Hmm…What do you want Hanzo? It's on me." This whole day had been on her, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I have no fondness for coffee." He waved to the menu board, not really looking. "Order what you would like."

"They have tea. Do you drink tea? Not to be stereotypical, but they apparently have a really nice jasmine brew."

That perked his interest. "That sounds agreeable."

She beamed. Her hand was still on his elbow. The boy, Carter, noticed too. "So uh, a pot of jasmine. Sweet. The normal?"

"Just the jasmine. Though I will have a gingerbread muffin." She paid for their order quickly and led him back outside to the pleasant mid-morning sun shining over the outdoor tables.

They sat in silence for a long time, not looking at each other, even when their order came out. Hanzo busied his hands with pouring them both a cup, and handed one to her. She took it and sipped gingerly at it, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

"Y'know, Genji was the only one who could get my dad to drink tea. We only had black and green tea." She chuckled. "He put so much honey in it, you could almost call it syrup."

"More of a coffee drinker?"

She nodded and glanced at him, a sad twinkle in her eye. "Oh yeah. Long and black, tons of honey. Not a fan of milk." She stared down into her cup forlornly.

He sipped at his briefly. "My father was partial to coffee himself, though he did not indulge in it very often." She looked up, intrigued at the sudden divulge of information. Hanzo cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts. "He was a very…distant man. My childhood was about readying me to take over the clan, to succeed him. He was not very lenient."

She simply nodded, not daring to speak, wanting desperately to hear more about the mysterious man's past. "So when Genji dishonoured the clan, numerous times, I always took the fall for him. I knew that he would not have survived our father's punishments. It would have…broken him. He was very spirited and happy as a child. I had no wish to take that from him."

"But…why take the fall for him? He wasn't going to learn from it otherwise." Oh he knew what she meant. But he knew he was the favoured son. If Genji had taken even some of the blame for any of the things he had done, the punishment would have been far more extreme.

"While I worked hard, was pushed to strive for perfection every day in the pursuit of honour and duty…Genji flounced off and had no care in the world. I knew what destiny awaited me, it had been paved out in front of me the minute I was born. Genji…was so very much like our mother."

Georgia reached out and took one of his hands in hers, stroking the back of it softly with her thumb. He looked up, caught up by the understanding in her eyes. "I get it. I really do. Except, I'm the one everyone keeps trying to protect. And from what? The world? I'm not innocent. And I certainly didn't have a conventional upbringing." She paused a moment. "I could shoot before I could walk, practically."

She withdrew suddenly, and picked up the butter knife on the tray. She cut the lonely muffin in half and buttered it with the provided spread, and picked up both halves, extending one to him. "Here, it's the best muffin you'll find this side of the airport runway."

He took the offered food, holding it in his fingers. It was still warm from the cabinet, and was crumbling slightly the longer he let it sit there. By the time he had taken a few bites and decided that he did indeed enjoy the muffin, she had finished her half and had picked her tea back up.

"I wish I knew where to look for him. My dad, I mean. But Genji won't help me, and Winston restricted my access to files in the computer system. It's like they don't want me to look for him."

"They want to keep you safe."

"It's not like I haven't travelled half way around the world before. Daddy used to take me on holidays when he had down time. He took me to America a few times and showed me where he grew up." She sighed into her cup. "And then he disappeared."

They finished their tea in silence before going back to the van. The drive to the market was quiet, and Hanzo milled around while Georgia spoke to someone about their fortnightly order. He waited while she handed over payment in the form of a card against a tablet he was holding. He frowned. What had the cash been for then? His eyes widened, clicking onto the fact that she had given him her _own_ money stash to buy clothes. Who knows how long it had taken her to accumulate that much. He had a fairly good guess what it had been for. And he had used most of it, assuming it was spare change or something from her trips into town.

She called him over to start hauling crates into the back of the van, saying she needed to do something and it would only take a minute. He shrugged and nodded, beginning the arduous task of stacking the crates into the van. His chest ached a little, but it wasn't nearly as bad as he had first imagined it would be. It would hurt more later though. He noted there was a copious amount of fruit and vegetable produce crates. He was halfway through the pallet of crates when she reappeared, a paper bag in hand. She tossed it into the front cab and came back to help him. They worked silently, in tandem, until the last crate was squeezed in and the doors only barely shut. These people ordered a lot of food.

She seemed to read his thoughts as they climbed into the front of the cab. "Most of it's for Winston."

He arched a brow. "That does not seem an even trade."

She chuckled. "You keep forgetting he's a genetically enhanced 900 pound gorilla, huh?"

"Point taken."

She chuckled again. "Anyway, I got you something. Grab the bag." She glanced out of the corner of her eye as he picked up the paper bag curiously. She started the van and pulled out of the loading dock and started the drive back to the Watchpoint. He peered inside and flushed a deep red, spluttering.

Oops. "Oh, ah, not the tampons obviously. Forgot about that. Brig doesn't usually, you know, _balk_ so much." She couldn't help but grin a little. It was unintentional fun at his expense, but she had yet to see a redder shade of, well, actual red on a person. And all over lady products. "Never seen sanitary items before?"

"Well yes, I have. But you said there was something for me in the bag—"

"Other bag. Obviously." She grinned as he grimaced and gingerly moved the offending items aside—lord they were fresh packets, how much of a caveman _was_ this guy?—and found the other paper bag she was referring to. He marvelled as he pulled out a small, cerulean blue, ceramic teapot. "There's more." He looked at her curiously, and the two dragons had popped out of his tattoos again and were also watching the bag curiously. She giggled. If they weren't mythical spirit creatures she would have almost thought them to be dogs.

He delved back into said bag and pulled out several boxes of tea leaves; different blends, different types and even different strengths of the same kinds. "Thank you." It was literally the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

She giggled again. "There's one more thing." She glanced at him as he arched both brows, incredulous. He put the teapot and tea leaves back as he pulled out the last item. It felt like canvas, and as he unfolded it he discovered it was an apron. "Turn it over."

He did as instructed and blinked a few times, before the flush from before crept back up his neck. There, stark white against the midnight black of the apron were the words "Mr Good Lookin' is _Cookin'_". He stared at it for a few more moments before looking at her, serious. The flush was still there, and she could see his mind buzzing, wondering what she meant.

She laughed and shook her head. "I thought if you were going to sneak up on me in the kitchen with your dragons, you may as well be helping." She grinned, giving him a sidelong look. "Besides, the apron isn't _wrong_."

He scoffed. "Spirits woman, you're joking."

"No, you're gonna help me cook tonight."

He was quiet a moment before he folded the apron and turned his gaze out to the window. His words were so quiet she almost missed them. "That's not what I meant." Her heart broke a little. She glanced over at him before fixing her eyes on the road. The dragons whined at his dour mood. She reached out and petted them absentmindedly on the silent trip home.

/0*0\

Hanzo stood next to her holding a whisk, wearing the offending apron. He had removed his jacket and had slung it over a chair. He gritted his teeth at the guffaws his brother was having at his expense. He'd worn the apron to humour Georgia. She hadn't told him that once everyone had pitched in to carry the crates to the kitchen, they also hung around the kitchen chatting jovially. He'd put the apron on because she'd bought him presents. And he did owe her for scaring the living daylights out of her. That his brother would get such a kick out of it was something he hadn't entirely mentally prepared for.

Genji, his faceplate off, wiped a tear of laughter from his eyes. "Brother, we really _must_ commemorate the occasion. Not only are you in a kitchen, but your _apron_—" he devolved into cackles of laughter. Everyone else joined in. He gritted his teeth and seethed.

Georgia playfully nudged him. She was tending to several pans of chicken fillets, browning them while she waited for him to make the teriyaki sauce to go with it. "I think it suits you." Honestly, the man in an apron should be classed as sin on two legs. Her eyes wandered down the length of his form and back up again. He caught her pointed, explicatory look, and his cheeks reddened slightly. He chalked it up to the heat of the oven he wasn't standing in front of.

He continued making the sauce as Georgia tactfully turned the conversation around onto things that the other agents had gotten up to during their service. Reinhardt immediately took charge of this idea and entered into a long, entertaining spiel about his youth and Torbjorn. Brigitte leaned forward, eager to hear stories about her family.

"Saved you." Georgia whispered to him.

He nodded and handed her the bowl he had been whisking in a moment before. "It's ready."

"Great. Can you start the vegetables?" Despite it traditionally being served by itself, they were adding capsicums, mushrooms and slivers of ginger on top. She poured the sauce over the pans, drizzling it about before going to the cupboard to pull out a bag of rice. She hefted it over and scooped multiple cupfuls out into a huge pot. He arched a brow. "Winston." He nodded. He really should have realised that their resident gorilla scientist would eat more than all of their other agents combined. She managed to get the now laden pot onto the stove, almost, but slipped at the last second. He instinctively shot over to catch it—and her, incidentally. He saved the pot from tipping with one hand, the other shooting to the small of her back without thought.

The warmth from his splayed hand startled Georgia into shoving the pot back onto the element with his help. His hand lingered a moment before he retracted it and turned away. He glanced up to see if anyone had noticed. No one had, except for the good doctor. She was staring at him, eyes narrowed in warning. He swallowed. Georgia, oblivious to the whole thing, hid her face behind a curtain of hair. _Don't get too attached_. The words echoed in his head. _Young and headstrong_. He was aware of how young, and he was beginning to find out just how headstrong the woman next to him was.

He turned away from her, hoping to convey his message across the room that he wasn't in any way, shape or form interested in the young lady beside him. It was a lie of course, she was intoxicating, and pushed herself into his life with such unapologetic abandon that he truly was grateful to have her as a new, budding friend. He was determined to keep it that way. Friends buy friends thoughtful gifts like teapots and tea leaves right? And comical gifts such as silly aprons?

He shook his head. Time passed slowly around him as dinner was served and they all sat down to eat. He had the misfortune of being seated next to the huge German crusader, who, whenever something caught his sense of humour, he slapped poor Hanzo in the back so hard he almost took a nose dive into his teriyaki. Only his incredibly refined reflexes saved him from such a fate, but he came close several times. He wondered if the man was aware he was still injured, or didn't care. He kept to himself, aware of the doctor's eyes on him the entire time. He didn't dare look up at her disapproving gaze, for fear of bringing attention to himself.

Once the whole affair was over, and Brigitte had graciously volunteered herself and her father to wash the dishes, Georgia didn't look the gift horse in the mouth. She darted out of there faster than a fox caught red handed in the chicken coop. She was nowhere to be seen when he filed out after everybody, and he ignored the twinge of disappointment that gripped him briefly. He removed the apron and folded it over his arm along with his jacket and made his way slowly back to his room.

His brother was leaning against his doorframe as he came to a stop outside his quarters, faceplate still off. "Nice cooking there, good lookin'." The twang of the accent failed his brother, coming off forced and jarring when accompanied with his slightly robotic voice.

He arched a brow at him as he palmed the door pad. Genji followed him in and sat on his bed while his older brother went about setting his new things away. He hadn't had a chance to earlier, with dinner seemingly taking up the entire afternoon and evening. It had been almost…pleasant, to be a part of such a happy moment in the blip of time.

"The drawl does not suit your tongue, brother." He chided as he took his teapot and tealeaves out of their bag, and set them up on a nearby shelf. Genji watched him as he carefully positioned the ceramic pot and lined his tea leave boxes up next to it.

"Hmm, that may be so. But I know whose drawl _does_ suit their tongue." Hanzo stilled. "Brother, what's going on?" his tone was serious now, all humour gone from it.

Hanzo answered truthfully. "There is nothing going on, brother." He turned slowly to meet his eyes.

The hard gleam in his brother's eyes caused his dragons to emerge, hissing and vibrating at the unspoken threat. Everyone seemed to want to do that lately. It was getting old. "Sure. Your clothes and that teapot weren't paid for by Overwatch funds."

Hanzo glared. "If you have come to falsely accuse me brother, at least tell me what it is you're accusing me of."

Genji sighed. "Has anything happened between you and Georgia?"

"No."

"Good." Genji eye him for a moment before cocking his head. "I promised Jesse that I would look out for her you know. That I would keep her from harm."

Hanzo arched a brow. "Is that why you refused to take her to find her father?"

"Jesse McCree…is a confusing man." Genji admitted after a pregnant pause. "He helped me through my anger following our…incident. He provided me a way to channel it. He assisted me in tracking down the syndicate, with ending them. All the while he had a little girl at home, blissfully unaware of what we were doing." This was the most he had ever spoken about his missing best friend.

"What are you getting at?" Hanzo spat. He winced at the mention of the most devastating day of both their lives. It was not a memory he wished to relive.

"Georgia has been shielded from much, despite her upbringing at Overwatch. He does not want to see her become a killer."

So that was it. That was what everyone was worried about. "You never answered my question."

Genji sighed again and looked away. "I—yes. Yes that is why I refused to help her. My methods of finding people are not the most tactful, though they do get results."

"None of you can shield her from this forever. I know the money was her own, and I can guess what it was for." He looked at his brother then, fixing him with a long stare. "She would have gone anyway. Ill-equipped and completely unprepared."

Genji sighed. "We know…we just, after Jesse left…well, you weren't there to pick up the pieces. We all had a hand in repairing her young heart, brother. We all feel as though she is one of our own. She is special, she has talent. We are trying to steer her in the right direction."

"By letting her be a part of an illegal organisation operating from the shadows?" Hanzo arched a brow. His dragons had retreated, though they were still watchful of a threat.

Genji sighed again, exasperated. "Hanzo, please. Just be careful. She is very headstrong." He'd noticed.

His brother bid him goodnight and left him to his thoughts. He knew they all meant well, but their love for their gunslinger was blinding them to how grown up she had obviously become. She could make her own mind up and now there was nothing they could do to stop her. She wasn't ten anymore. The least he could do to help her was give her the skills when she _did_ decide to up and leave in search of the elusive Jesse McCree.

* * *

**Well that was fun. I did enjoy writing their little excursion down into town. Thank you for reading if you are still here, it means a whole lot! And we'll see you next time :)**


	7. Let the Training Begin

**We're back! Hello again. This one was both easy and difficult to write, I enjoyed it. Georgia has a ways to go before she's ready to leave just yet, so there's going to be a lot of Gibraltar before she does go. **

**Double Disclaimer: I realised that I had not actually written a disclaimer on the last chapter because I probably forgot to, or thought I had. So my lazy ass is double disclaimering that I do not own Overwatch for this and the last chapter. **

* * *

Chapter Seven: Let the Training Begin

Hanzo woke early to seek Georgia out the next morning. Truthfully, he hadn't slept much at all. His thoughts whirred around in his mind, and his dragons had spent the night cuddling up to him with their fuzzy, ethereal warmth in an attempt to aid his sleep. It hadn't worked, and he had spent the better part of the early hours of the morning meditating on his mat in his room to no avail. He had no idea how to approach this. She seemed to brush off his stoicism, and enjoyed his attempts at humour far too much. When he spoke in a serious manner, she softened him with her words and her smile, and twisted his brain until it was confused.

Hanzo Shimada was not a man who would readily admit to such a simple thing as a crush. No, he'd take it to his grave. Which probably wouldn't be far around the corner with the dangerous line of work he had volunteered for. Gods. His brother and the gunslinger were making him soft. He didn't appreciate it at all.

He grabbed his teapot and a box of leaves from his shelf and made his way to the kitchen. No one would be there, and so he would get to enjoy a pot to himself in peace. He had chosen to dress casually in a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt with the casual shoes he had bought. He had worn the jeans yesterday, but they had been more uncomfortable than he expected. Georgia practically lived in hers and he had wrongly assumed the offending clothing item to be suitable for everyday wear. It was not the case.

He'd been on base for little more than a week. In that time, his dragons had begun to rebel because they liked Georgia and did not want to eat her, the doctor and his brother had threatened him, Georgia had bought him a teapot and also technically had paid for his new clothes, she had also helped him in the most awkward way possible in the shower, she had brought him meals while he was bedridden, she had tended to him while he was bedridden, she had had a hand in saving his life, etc etc etc went the list. The most thingy thing they had done together, when he hadn't been a creeper watching her in the kitchen or elsewhere on the base (gods they were all going to kill him weren't they?), was she had included him on her trip to town instead of convincing her sister. She had bought him presents, had taken him for tea and a muffin. She had been incredibly thoughtful the entire time he had been on base. It was a wonder his head was screwed on straight, because even if she _hadn't_ been doing these things he would have probably stumbled up over her quiet beauty anyway.

Gods on earth was he going to have a difficult time with what he had planned for her.

The pot whistling on the stovetop drew him out of his thoughts, and he jerked towards grabbing the handle. He removed it from the stovetop and set about brewing himself a cup of tea. While he left it to steep, he wandered over to the coffee pot maker and fumbled about trying to get it to work, but didn't get much further then turning it on.

He was swearing under his breath at the thing when footsteps stomped in behind him, and he turned around to see Brigitte wandering through to the cupboards in pyjamas, her reddish hair dishevelled. She blinked as she noticed Hanzo, and then chuckled as she saw his problem.

"Can't get the coffee pot to work huh?" she grabbed some bread out of the cupboard and stuck it in the toaster, then grabbed some more containers out and stepped over to him.

"This—machine—is incorrigible." He scowled at it.

"Here." She, in her half asleep state, efficiently set about making a pot of coffee and set it to go before her toast had even popped. "It'll be a few minutes." She went back to making her breakfast.

He stared at her, befuddled. "How did you do that?" he gestured to the coffee pot.

She shrugged. "It's easy. And it'll be a good thing to have one on for when everyone else comes in for breakfast in an hour or so."

"Hm."

"What are _you_ doing up anyway?" she asked casually as she buttered her toast and stuck it in her mouth, chewing loudly.

He refrained from crinkling his nose up at the less than ideal eating habits of the young engineer. "I could not sleep. So I made tea. What are you doing?"

She moaned. "Ugh, papa is making me get a start on your new armour."

He arched a brow. "I apologise for being an inconvenience."

She shook her head and waved her hands, crumbs flying everywhere. He brushed a few off his shirt, unimpressed. "No, no, it's not that. He's doing it to torture me."

Both eyebrows went up. "Torture you?" He hadn't had a conversation this long one-on-one with another agent aside from Georgia and it was starting to get perplexing.

"He found my latest armour set I've been making. It's got at least three improvements on the last set, but he says because I've been using workshop time on it, I have to catch up." She shrugged. "We were supposed to have your armour done before you got released from the infirmary."

"Oh. I had not got around to asking for a new set yet." He frowned.

She brushed him off. "Angela mentioned to papa how damaged your last set was, and he's been examining it to make a new set for you. It's been tricky because they had to cut a lot of it away from you. It's amazing your legs aren't injured either."

"I see." So that solved that problem. "When will it be done?" he was curious.

She shrugged. "A couple of days. We've come up with a new design, and we had to get the proper materials. Gee Gee dropped them off yesterday."

Wait. Her trip for Torbjorn had been for _his_ new armour? Christ the list of things she was just doing that seemed to affect him was growing. "She implied if I asked nicely, your father might make me a set."

Brigitte grinned. "My sister has a sense of humour, though you've probably guessed that." Unfortunately, a certain apron came to mind. "Anyway, long black, tons of honey and a splash of cream." She picked up a plate that had magically become filled with toast in the time their conversation had taken.

He blinked. "Pardon?"

Brigitte flashed a knowing grin at him. It made his palms sweat. "That's how Gee Gee likes her coffee."

All he could do was stare after her as she shuffled back out the way she had come, a coffee in hand as well. He looked at the now full coffee pot and sighed. He went about making a cup of coffee, his dragons purring curiously behind him. He shushed them, not wanting to deal with them right now. He poured the coffee to the top, and searched a minute or two before he found the honey and began making a very non-educated guess on what was the right amount for 'tons of honey'. He found a small bottle of cream in the fridge next to several bottles of milk and splashed some in. He picked up the mug and his own teacup and made his way back to the sleeping quarters.

He gingerly balanced the beverages while he knocked on the door panel. There was a muffled grunt from within and some shuffling around, a dull thud and a string of curses. His brows rose of their own accord, and he was sure if she hadn't been basically asleep as she opened the door with a disgruntled look of her face, she would have probably found his facial expression comical.

She perked up as he offered her the mug, and gestured for him to follow her in. He sighed. He still hadn't worked out how to talk to her about what he had in mind. His dragons slipped out and she didn't even bat an eye as she sat down on the bed and leaned against the wall, crossing her legs as they curled up next to her. He inwardly winced. He must have woken her up to early. To her credit, despite the fact she seemed grumpy as all hell, she sipped at her coffee and waited for him to speak.

He found it difficult when she was sat on her rumpled bed with his dragons, slightly mussed hair tucked behind her ears and her pyjama shorts riding up her thighs. She was wearing a very thin strapped camisole on top. He sipped at his tea and averted his gaze to his shoes. He didn't have a clue how to start. They barely knew each other, but they knew enough about each other that he figured he should help her before she did something stupid. He cared about her and her wellbeing. Which left a strange feeling in his chest. He hadn't cared about someone since his brother, and that had been a familial attachment.

The further she drained her coffee the more awake and less grumpy she appeared to be. She eventually broke the silence. "You know, it's weird to stand when someone else is sitting. Bad manners."

He started and blinked up at her before making to sit down in the chair at her desk, moving it to face her. He set his empty cup on her desk's surface and clasped his hands together. He knew it was impolite. But all the cordial, restrained, well-mannered habits that had been ingrained into him in his youth flew out the window around her. He took a calming breath, willing himself to calm his thoughts and focus. It sort of worked.

"When do you plan on going after your father?" he asked evenly.

She jerked, eyes widening up at him from her spot on the bed. "Uh, I don't know. Why?"

"Because you are ill-equipped to track someone. And defend yourself—without a gun." He added when she went to protest.

"And? It's not like everyone else includes me on their training. Genji taught me how to improve my shooting, but he wouldn't teach me anything else." She glanced away, a troubled look on her face. "I was sure he would. He was my dad's best friend. I thought he would want to find him too."

Hanzo regarded her for a moment. "I will train you."

Her face whipped up to catch his gaze. "What?"

"I will do it." He repeated as evenly as he could.

She stared at him, stunned. She didn't speak for a long while. When she did, her voice was quiet and contemplative. "Why would you help me like this?"

He paused, thinking. "For a long time I was searching for my own honour and redemption for what I did to my brother. In the end, he is the one helping me on a path to find it. It is my turn to help someone on their own path to find what they are searching for."

"And you picked me?" she was watching him softly, petting the dragons absentmindedly.

"You are being held back because they are afraid."

"Of what?" she asked, bewildered.

"Of you becoming another tool, a weapon in the belt of Overwatch I think."

She sighed. "Typical of them really. I should have guessed. I think I kind of already did."

"We will train in secret, at night." He stood, abruptly finishing the conversation before it could go down another rabbit hole. His dragons slithered off the bed and rolled through the air, disappearing back into his tattoos. He grabbed his cup and made to leave.

Georgia stood and offered him a soft smile. "Thank you Hanzo."

He inclined his head at her. "Wear something black and comfortable. Meet me at the practice range after 10 pm."

She nodded. "By the way."

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"Thanks for the coffee. But next time, no honey and triple the cream." She giggled at his confused brow furrow. "I know Brig gave you advice on how to make it. I like it sultry, not sweet. I don't have a sweet tooth the way my dad does."

His brows rose in understanding. "I am sorry if that caused you any pain."

She waved his comment off and ran a hand through her hair. "It's okay. It's Brig's way of having a joke at my expense. There's no harm done." She grinned wickedly. "But if you ever find yourself in the workshop with her, ask her about Mr Irvine's battery charger. She'll know what it means."

He eyed her warily. "Do I want to know?"

She laughed. A soft, clear sound like the pleasant jingle of a bell. But not quite. Ugh, when did he get all metaphor-y? "It's okay, you'll never find out, but it'll shut her up for a while."

Hanzo hummed briefly, mulling it over, before nodding. It would humour him to. He was no good at making jokes, but he did like them. If the opportunity arose, he would humour Georgia. "Very well. I will see you tonight. Do not be late."

He pivoted on his heel and left her there, and went to his own room to grab his bow and quiver. He needed to think. Archery offered him the kind of zenith he needed to do so.

/0*0\

Georgia was early to their training session on purpose. She'd been there since half nine, sitting on a crate and twirling Peacemaker around in her hands. She'd done as instructed and was wearing something black and comfortable. She'd braided her hair and pinned it up into a bun to get it out of the way, but most of her fringe had worked its way out and was framing the side of her face.

After waking her up at a most ungodly hour, Hanzo had practically avoided her for the rest of the day. It wasn't entirely subtle, but he was careful enough to talk to others that neither Angela nor Genji had gotten suspicious. He hadn't got it past Brig though, and Georgia had had to fend her off for most of the afternoon. She'd been chomping at the bit to find out what had happened, pretty sure that _something_ had happened, though the something wasn't what either of them thought it might be. She hadn't told her sister that Hanzo had planned to train her in secret, wanting to hold onto whatever shreds of trust the older man had given her.

She huffed and used the wrist of her catsuit to buff the barrel of the revolver. Her leather belts were looped around her hips, the holster hanging idly without the gun in it. She fiddled with one of the buckles. There was a restlessness bubbling in her chest, and she clambered off the crate she was sitting out to bounce on the balls of her feet. She twirled Peacemaker a few more times before holstering it and clipping the leather casing shut. She glanced around for a sign that Hanzo had appeared, but saw nothing but the creeping shadows of buildings.

She shook her hands and arms out, huffing in frustration as a clawing feeling encased her throat. She fought the suffocating feeling away, though her chest heaved a bit. What if Hanzo wasn't coming? What if he had tricked her? She doubted that he would, but he had told her to be punctual, and he was starting to be late. She had wanted to make a good impression. Worry clutched at her. What if her try at a good impression had backfired? She groaned and ran her hands over her face, bouncing around on the spot, trying to get rid of some of the built up energy. Normally she would shoot when she felt like this, but it was late and the sound might carry. She wasn't sure why she had brought the gun in the first place, except that she felt more secure when she was wearing it, feeling the weight in her hands.

Georgia breathed in the night air, savouring the crisp, dry breeze of the fading summer. They would be into autumn soon. She smiled softly to herself and closed her eyes, letting the soft breeze play with the loose strands of her hair and tickle her jaw. She stopped bouncing and settled into herself, using the breeze as a calming anchor. She didn't know how long she stood there focusing on the wind, but a deep, rumbling voice broke her from her reverie.

"A calm mind is a good step towards a disciplined mind, and therefore a disciplined body."

She jumped sideways and gasped, hand flying towards Peacemaker but stilling as she twisted around towards the voice. Distinctly male, distinctly accented. Distinctly Hanzo. She breathed a sigh, hand falling back to her side, heart hammering in her chest.

"You scared the hell out of me."

He inclined his head towards her as he stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight. He was clad in loose robes, the sleeves wide but short. His loose pants where tucked into thick black knee high socks, which were tucked into shoes that resembled slippers almost moulded to his feet. The left shoulder of his robe was tucked into his belt, his tattoos exposed against the bare skin of his arm, chest and torso. She sucked in a breath at seeing the pinks lines of his scars marring the inkwork on his pectoral muscle, reminding her just how close to death he had been at one stage not so long ago. And now here he was, calm, collected and stern. The silent shadow of death itself.

"I am sorry for scaring you. Now, we begin." He strode purposefully over to her and motioned for her to join him in the flat, open area of the range.

She sidled up next to him, waiting for his instructions. "With what?"

"For now I will teach you a few stances to help ground your centre and give you better balance. We will work on your hand to hand combat mostly, as well as some free running." He sunk into a stance as if it were as easy as breathing. She struggled to copy him, not quite sure what she was doing. She guessed he didn't teach people how to do this, if at all.

"Free running?" she echoed, brow pinched in concentration as she mirrored his stance poorly.

He held the stance. She wasn't sure what to do, so she stayed where she was. "You will see. Straighten your back and turn your toes until they are in line with your shoulders, you are crooked."

She did as instructed. He stood to use his toes to correct her own, and used his hands to manipulate her shoulders into straightening better. "Ugh, any straighter and I'll fall backwards."

He made a non-committal noise. "Then you would have a poor stance." He took her through a few more stances, correcting her positioning where necessary, which was a lot. He then took her through the motions of some forms, until she was moving through them as fluidly as a gangly adult trying to perform unfamiliar movements could do so. Her muscles were already sore from all the work. She dreaded looking at the time. She would feel crap if either not enough time had passed or too much. He was a master at his craft. She felt like a baby foal trying to find its legs in comparison.

The free running was better, if only by a margin. The first session was basically her following him around at a quick jog while he showed her various ways of navigating terrain in unconventional ways. She attempted a few of them, and succeeded with a few scrapes and bruises. She was sweating and her breathing was ragged by the time they were finished. Hanzo looked like he'd just rested. His breathing was even and there was no change to his skin in terms of perspiration.

She was panting as they were warming down. Or rather, she was warming down, he was standing there watching her critically. "You are more unfit then I thought."

"I was fit enough to pass the physical exam." She bit back.

"Their standards are not very high." He commented dryly. "I thought Overwatch employed the best."

She growled at him. "I am the best damn shot here."

"That is all well and good while you are in your comfort zone when your enemy is more than 10 metres away. But what if they knock your gun out of your hand? What will you do then? What if your enemy has skills similar to mine or my brother?" he replied evenly, fixing her with a blank stare. "You would be dead on your feet. Especially with the kind of people you are bound to run into finding your father."

She huffed and began stretching out her thigh muscles. "I guess so." She grumbled.

The following two weeks or so he spent rigorously teaching her how to free run and how to defend herself in a fight. Turned out the stances he had taught her were basically the foundation of her not getting slammed into the ground immediately. He showed her how to redirect an opponent's energy against them, using their bulk to her advantage, how to use her smallness and therefore a more natural agility to outpace and outwit an opponent. She couldn't outwit him no matter how hard she tried, and against him she always fell on her ass. Repeatedly.

When he was sort of satisfied with her progress, as far as she could tell anyway, he began running simulations with her based off real life scenarios. Things like 'you pissed off this gang and they have come to kill you in your sleep, how do you deal with it and escape?'. Fighting him off in that one had felt like fighting off ten different people from a million different directions, he had moved quicker than she had been able to track him.

They used the practice range's simulation dart guns in place of real weapons for everything. They were nasty if you got hit with them, paralysing the area around their hit sight for a few minutes and sending out small shocks of pain in an attempt to simulate a real bullet. He'd hit her so many times her whole body ached where the darts had pricked her skin.

Hanzo ran her into the ground until she felt like she could barely stand, and then he pushed her some more. Her fitness had improved immensely, but she couldn't free run for more than an hour or so before starting to get sloppy and winded.

Her days had been suffering too; she hadn't practiced her shooting in days and she spent a lot of her time wandering around aimlessly doing chores. Angela was also a hard task master, and required all of her attention. Everything was starting to catch up to her, in a bad way. She felt like she was starting to tear apart at the seams.


	8. Girls' Night

**Oops, it's been a bit longer than I had first intended before posting the next chapter. Although this one and the next are a connected pair, and I feel as though I've rewritten both too many times. **

**But here it is, the next installment. I'm happy enough with how this one turned out, so we'll see.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Overwatch. **

* * *

Chapter Eight: Girls' Night

It was a few days into the third week of training, and Georgia was sitting at her desk mindlessly watching news when there was a rap at her door. She turned in time for it to hiss aside and Brigitte to walk in. She smiled brightly at her sister and turned away from the computer.

"Hey Brig, what's up?" She arched a brow as she took in her sister's appearance. She was clad in her best pair of jeans and a sparkly singlet top. She had a nice set of sandals on and she'd put her hair up in a woven, intricately braided bun. "Whoa, who are you taking out tonight?"

Her sister grinned. "You, you've been looking really run down lately. You need a pick me up."

"Oh, um Brig I don't know if I can go tonight—" she fumbled for something to say. "I'm not even dressed."

"It's all good, I'm in charge of getting you dressed, Angela and Lena are sorting out the car and places we're going to hit tonight." Brigitte, at this point, was rifling through her drawers. "Gee Gee, don't you have anything _other_ than jeans and tank tops?"

"Uh, in the closet I have a few dresses." Georgia was sitting there, dumbfounded.

"Go get in the shower! I'll have something for you when you get out. And we'll do your hair as well." That last one perked her up. Brigitte always had a style for her that made her feel pretty.

She did as she was told, showering quickly before hopping out and wrapping a thick towel around herself, venturing back into her room to find Brig had spread a light blue floral sundress out on her bed with a pair of strappy sandals. "Wow, where did you dig that out of?"

"Your closet holds many treasures." Brig motioned to the desk chair, armed with a brush in one hand a bobby pins in the other. "Sit, this won't take long."

Georgia obeyed, and quietly sat while her sister played with her hair, twisting parts of it up into a cascading ponytail over her shoulder. It felt relaxing to have her hair brushed and played with, and she knew Brigitte always marvelled at how her hair managed to stay soft and easy to manage, no matter what she did to it.

She hummed a tune as her hair was teased this way and that, and her fringe was teased out to frame her face. She wound thick braids through the ponytail, winding a lot of the bulk up underneath the rest of her hair while still appearing delicate and soft. When Brigitte was done, she had a lovely, wavy side ponytail with braids wound around and through it, the tail end tumbling down the front of her left shoulder. The faux shortening Brig had done left the end wisps reaching the bottom of her ribcage, instead of her hips.

She ushered Brigitte out, insisting on meeting her at the vehicle hanger once she was dressed and had done her make up. Once her sister was gone she stood and made her way to the bathroom, picking out subtle shades and blends and applying them lightly to her face. She didn't want to detract from the amazing work Brig had done on her hair, or the effort she had put into finding a dress in her wardrobe of boring jeans and button shirts.

Once she had pulled the little dress on and the sandals, and paused at her door. The dress was rather pretty, and she couldn't rightly recall where it had come from. The hem brushed the tops of her knees and the thin straps left her shoulders very bare. But the night was warm enough that wouldn't be a problem. She strapped a leather holster to her thigh with Peacemaker in it, just in case.

She sighed and restrained herself from running a hand through her hair and ruining all her sister's hard work. "Athena?"

There was a brief pause before the female computer sounded over her comm in her room. "_Yes, Agent Georgia?_"

"Can you please let Hanzo know I'm leaving and won't be able to meet him tonight?" she bit her lip, hoping the AI would comply. Sometimes she wouldn't, opting to make her own decisions within the limiters Winston had put on her programming.

"_Of course Agent Georgia. What time will you be back?_"

"Late, it's a girl's night."

"_I will let him know._"

"Thanks Athena." Georgia felt a little lighter exiting her room and starting her way down the hall, though she did feel guilty about not telling him in person. Talking about training had become a bit of a difficult topic for her personally. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful, quite the opposite, it was that he took it so seriously that she was afraid of how he would react. He was a different person when they were training to when they went on grocery trips, or were just casually talking around base. It was as if he could flip a switch and there was no room for anything other than seriousness and discipline, and he would accept nothing less than that from her either. It was tiring.

She didn't manage to escape unscathed however, as she heard a door hiss aside behind her. She winced, hoping she would have made it past his room and down the hall, far far away before Athena commed into his room. She gritted her teeth as a rough hand grabbed her elbow and jerked her around.

"Thanks Athena." She muttered under her breath as he released her, though did not step back. He was dressed in his robes. His scars had faded to white lines now, though they still stood out against the pigment of his skin.

"Where are you going?" he bit out darkly.

"Girls night, I told Athena to tell you." She met his gaze as evenly as she could. "It's Brig's idea, so I can't back out."

"You have training tonight."

"I'll be back late."

"And you're going out like that?" he said bluntly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What does _that_ mean?"

"You're not very covered."

She gaped at him for a moment before poking him hard in the chest with a finger. "Who gave _you_ the damn right to tell me how I can dress? For _your_ information, I feel fucking pretty thank you very much."

He made to speak, but held his tongue. She could see the seriousness falling away a little bit and the normal, subtle Hanzo peek through. "I—sorry. You are correct. I have no right. Have a good night. We will reconvene tomorrow night." He abruptly turned around and entered his room faster than she could form a reply to that, and left her there in the hallway, furious and more than a little bit confused.

/0*0\

Hanzo groaned and rubbed at his brow as his door slid shut. He was an idiot. A fumbling, stupid, jealous idiot. Of course he had no right to tell her to do anything. Or not do anything. He had been angry when Athena had informed him of her change of plans. Did she not respect him as much as she seemed to, that she would not tell him herself? No, it was because she was afraid, he realised. Her defiance had been borne out of fury at his words, but he had seen the worry etched into her brow as he'd spun her around.

He glared bitterly at the ground, mind roiling with anger at himself.

/0*0\

Georgia didn't know what bar they were at, but it was lively with good booze, good people and good music. It was a bit rustic. Brigitte must have picked it, wanting to make her feel comfortable. She was sitting at their table nursing her whiskey and mulling over things to herself. Lena had designated to be their sober driver, so she could have something to drink. It was her first drink and she'd barely touched it. Her mind was too busy to enjoy the burning liquid.

Angela had her hair down and was wearing an elegant ensemble of slacks, a sleeveless emerald chiffon shirt and heels. Lena had dyed the tips of her hair pink, and was wearing some form of shirt over ripped shorts and fishnet stocks. She had thick, black boots on her feet. She had a mini version of her chronal accelerator attached to a necklace. It had less charge then her bulky one, but it allowed her to go out like this and enjoy herself without the contraption strapped to her chest.

Lena and Brigitte were dancing enthusiastically on the dance floor with a couple of other people they'd made friends with over the course of the night. Brigitte shimmied her way over to the table where she and the doctor were sitting. Lena was bouncing around on her toes, ushering her forward.

"C'mon Gee Gee, you look too good to be sulking in a corner." Brigitte smiled, her cheeks flushed from drinking and dancing.

Georgia looked sideways at Angela and arched a brow. "You'll be okay for a bit?"

Angela smiled warmly at her, and sipped at her glass of red wine. "I'm sure I can manage for a few dances. Go, enjoy yourself. You've been working hard."

Georgia let Brigitte take her hand and twirl her over to the dance floor next to Lena, and she smiled broadly at the two of them as they bopped around to the beat. The next song came on and Lena was practically vibrating on the spot.

"Ooh I _love_ this one!" it sounded like a mash between a pop song and a soft rock, the beats very similar. "This is one of Lucio's mashups, he's such a great musician!"

The rest of the floor seemed to agree as they picked up the pace to match the beat and the enthusiastic recordings of said DJ. Georgia knew of him. He had basically become a sensation overnight in Brazil after creating some sort of technology to fight back against the gangs and omnic haters in his home town. His music was impressive, but he was a DJ and it wasn't really her thing. He was an international sensation now, having toured the world in the last few months. Lena had taken time off to go and see him when he'd visited Spain, crossing the border and making a weekend of it.

She laughed at the Brit's infectious enthusiasm, and bounced along, happy to be spun around by her and her sister. They were joined by a few others, both young men and women, and somehow a freestyle circle had started as the mashup carried on. Lena was the most impressive, her quick movements and sharp looks earning her a lot of applause. Brig did some form of robot move, her time with machines kicking in. The best Georgia could pull off was a quick cut and shuffle. It had been a while since she'd done anything like this, but her feet remembered, and her skirt twirled around her dancing legs.

She stumbled away as the song finished, grinning and laughing. She made her way back to the table to down her tumbler of whiskey, buzzed on the dancing high. The spirit burned its way down her throat and warmed her belly. The omnic waiter came by their table on his round of the establishment and offered more beverages.

"Another whiskey please, neat." She asked breathlessly, smiling warmly at him. He seemed to register her warm reception of him, and buzzed with happiness as he bustled off. She sat down next to Angela again, sighing. "That waiter is nice." She hummed.

"Indeed. Lena has been talking to him whenever he goes by. I wonder if she scares him with her enthusiasm." Angela chuckled and sipped at her glass.

They sat in silence as they waited for the omnic to come back with her whiskey, neat as she'd asked. He did on his next round of the bar, and she glanced around as she sipped at it. She could feel the back of her neck prickling with the feeling of being watched, but it was accompanied by the warmth of fuzzies in her stomach of being checked out. She was just looking around to catch the pair of eyes that were looking at her.

She did eventually. He was sitting at the bar, clad in khaki shorts and a shirt, a tumbler of dark liquid in his hand. He was olive skinned with thick brown curls and dark eyes. He smiled at her softly as she caught his eye and held it. He looked to be around her age. Basically perfect to get Mr Unavailable off her brain for a bit. Before she could change her mind, she downed her whiskey and stood, pausing to steady herself. She briefly told Angela she was going to the bar, and swayed her hips past the bar, and him, to sit down on a stool a few down from him.

A few moments later he slipped onto the stool next to her, a warm thigh pressing against hers. She glanced up at him; there was a warmth in his brown eyes that drew her in.

"I saw you watching me." She offered softly, a quirk of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. "Did you see something you liked?"

The burning in his eyes intensified as he looked her up and down, slowly appreciating the fall of her dress over her frame. "You are American. Your accent isn't very strong."

She arched a brow. "And you're Spanish. What's that got to do with anything?"

He shrugged. "You seemed awfully friendly with the robot."

She shrugged. "What, Americans can't be nice?"

"Not in my experience." He tutted and sipped at his drink in his hand.

The bartender came over to ask if she wanted anything. "Whiskey, neat."

He whistled. "You like the strong stuff huh?"

"I'm from the south, we don't do anything in half measures." She smiled at him, and he smiled back, chuckling. It was a warm, carefree sound, a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy man she was used to dealing with.

"I'm Antonio, by the way." He reached out a hand to her, and she shook her head playfully as she shook it.

"Georgia." She offered, drawing her hand back to pick up the tumbler that was now set in front of her. "So, where are you from?"

He chuckled. "You mean actually where I'm from, or just Spain?"

"Like actually where you're from." She rested her chin in her free hand and peered coyly up at him. "Tell me everything."

Antonio seemed to think carefully about this. "Well, I grew up on a farm which had some vineyards on it. I have five brothers and three sisters."

"Big family huh?" her heart hurt. That many siblings sounded wonderful. "I'm an only child myself."

"Then I envy you that." He took a swig of his drink, smile still in place, but he seemed a bit bitter talking about his family.

"What's wrong with a big family?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged and flashed her a smile. "I kind of get lost in the crowd. Not like you, you shine like the whole world was made for you." His gaze was soft on her, and her insides fluttered at the flirtatious flattery.

"But I saw you. Not so lost now, right?"

"Right." He said breathlessly. After a moment he gestured subtly back to the tables lining the wall, looking to one table in particular. "Those are my brothers." There were five men seated around the table, all looked older than Antonio, but she could see the resemblance in the olive skin and curly brown hair.

"Ah, so you're the youngest."

"Forever being left out of things." He scowled. "I'm not allowed to sit with them."

She watched him curiously and cocked her head. "So why come with them?"

"Eh, we do things as a family, apparently. I don't really have a choice. If I didn't they'd ridicule me for wanting to stay home with the women."

"I don't really see the issue. Nothing wrong with staying home." Her thoughts drifted to pale skin and black hair, and she shook her head a little to get rid of that train of thought. "Though it's fun to come out once in a while."

He arched a brow. "You enjoy staying at home? Then why are you here?"

She grinned. "I got dragged out for a girls' night." Her gaze softened as she looked up at him. "I'm glad I did."

It was difficult to see the blush that rose on his cheeks due to the lights and his darker skin tone, but she was pleased to see it. "I'm glad too." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure how I was going to try and talk to you, if I was going to at all."

"Good thing I don't do things in half measures." She sipped at the whiskey. "So, aside from farmwork, what do you do?"

He clammed up at that, stuttering and trying to string something together that would make some modicum of sense. He kept glancing at the table his brothers were sitting at, and his knees began to bounce nervously.

"Ah. Less than legal?" she asked softly, leaning close to his ear to whisper. He gulped. "It's okay, me too."

He blinked and stared at her. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yup."

"You don't look like…a thug or a gangster." He ran his eyes over her again.

"That's because I'm not." She leaned in close again, brushing herself against his arm as she did so. "I'm with Overwatch."

His eyes widened. "You're back?" he seemed to marvel at her some more. "And the others you're with—?"

She nodded. "But it's still a secret."

"I always wanted to join when I was a boy…wow, this is amazing!" he brimmed with energy, and wistful hope in his eyes. It was very infectious. "Do you think I could…you know, join?"

"You mean you'd want to willing join an illegal organisation?" her brows rose.

He shrugged. "What's the difference to where I currently am? It'll just be for a better cause that I _choose_ to follow."

She glanced up at him, eyes twinkling. "You're amazing, you know that? Not many people would just knowingly join us. A lot of the agents refused the recall."

He flushed again at her words. He seemed to fumble over himself. "I admit, a small part of me would be happy to work with someone like you."

She grinned. "Someone _like_ me, huh?"

He stuttered again, struggling to find words to say. It was refreshing with honest emotion once in a while. She knew where she stood. "Well, I mean—you—ugh…I mean _you_."

"But we hardly know each other." She smiled coyly at him. Maybe he was too good for this. He was definitely too good for whatever shit he was currently caught up in.

"I'd like to get to know you." He muttered quietly.

She reached over to touch his hand, drawing patterns on the back of it. "There's two ways for a woman to get to know a man."

He arched a brow. "Oh? And what would those be?" he was watching her intently, flexing his fingers ever so slightly when she traced over his nerves.

"Well." she drawled. "It'll either be at the end of my tongue…" she smiled up at him, he flushed a deep crimson. "Or it'll be at the end of the barrel of my gun." She shrugged.

He froze. "W-what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Look, while we've been sitting here your brothers have been watching us. Specifically, _me_. Thanks for pointing them out. Now, either you _are_ genuine, and I haven't risked my ass telling you the truth, in which case, that's awesome and I'd really, really love to show you a good time."

He swallowed. "Or?"

She fixed him with a steely gaze. "Or you're setting me up, and just got unlucky with your pick tonight."

He swallowed hard and leaned over to her, whispering him her ear, making it look like they were still conversing lightly. "I promise this isn't a set up. They just…care about my wellbeing a little too much."

After a moment to watch him she deemed him to be telling the truth. She angled her face so her lips were practically caressing the shell of his ear. "So, what do we do now?" she licked her lips, accidentally catching his ear with the tip. He shuddered.

He swallowed hard. "I…I don't know."

She nodded. "I'll be back in a second."

She smiled sweetly at him as she slipped off the bar stool, eyes lingering as she made her way back to her table. So her night had gotten a bit more complicated than she had expected. Angela was eyeing her, brows arched disapprovingly but lips quirked up in a smirk.

"So, who's the lucky boy you plan to deflower tonight?"

Georgia felt that was an appropriate comment to cause her to choke on a drink, had she been drinking at the time. She sat down and twiddled her thumbs. Angela leaned over, concern beginning to show. Angela leaned over further, voice low and quiet. "What's going on?"

"Antonio, the boy I've been talking to, I told him we were agents. I want to go home with him."

"Jesus Georgia." Angela pinched the bridge of her nose.

Georgia shook her head. "He's genuine. I'll be safe, I promise."

Angela muddled this over in her head before casually bringing a small, slim object out of her pocket and slipping it into her hand. "Here, it's a secure cellphone. There's another one in the car. Keep us in the loop. It'll also contact base if we need it."

Georgia sighed. "Fine. But I'll be fine. I have Peacemaker."

Angela rolled her eyes heavenward for a moment. "I don't approve of this you know."

Georgia smirked. "Thanks Angela."

The doctor looked over and gave her a soft yet worried smile. "Just come home safe Georgia."

She smiled gently back at the doctor. "I will." She caught Brigitte's eye on the way back to the bar and winked at her. Her brow rose before she grinned and gave her a thumbs up. That was all the final approval she needed before heading back to the bar, and Antonio. He was grinned widely as she sidled up to him, and she linked an arm through his. They wandered outside and he led her over to a small motorbike. He swung his leg over the seat and held out a hand for her, grinning. She smiled back at him as she took his hand and mounted behind him.

The wind rushing through her hair as she secured her arms around his waist caused her to shiver, and she felt one of his hands come back from the handle bars to rub warm circles comfortingly over the back of one of her hands. She buried her face into his back, their height difference quite apparent with his shoulders a head above her eye level.

They drove for what seemed like hours, but eventually he pulled over and parked, turning the bike off. He swung his leg over the front and helped her off. He laced his fingers with hers as he led her towards a slightly dingy motel. She glanced around the foyer as Antonio got a room key and paid for the night, trying to ignore the niggling feeling that she was being too impulsive. That this would end badly. She scoffed inwardly. The only way that this was going to end, was with her hopefully forgetting all about the sulky assassin, even if only for a few hours.

* * *

**Welp. Georgia's trying to block Hanzo out of her brain, but how well will _that_ turn out? We'll see next time! Which will be relatively soon after this chapter, seeing as they're a little package deal set. See you next time!**


	9. Dingy Motels and Musty Sheets

**I honestly found this chapter so difficult to piece together in a way that didn't suck badly. I just couldn't work out how to wrap it up properly, so I feel it's a bit rushed. But it'll do. **

**But I'm excited that it's two chapters in time for Christmas! (lol, just playing catch up). Merry Christmas, and we'll probably see you in the New Year!**

**I wanted to do a Christmas chapter for Christmas but my lazy ass didn't hurry up and write it so we ended up at Christmas in the storyline too. So that'll happen later. I really to like writing Christmas scenes/chapters, they're a lot of fun. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Overwatch. **

* * *

Chapter Nine: Dingy Motels and Musty Sheets

The trip to the room upstairs was a blur, and the first thing Georgia could definitively remember was Antonio shutting the door quietly before fiddling with the key card in his hands nervously. She made her way to the window, pushing aside the moth eaten curtains to look out at the sky. The moon was half full and hanging against the black night sky, a few stars twinkling around it. She turned back to the young man in the middle of the room, who was looking far more nervous than before.

"You okay? It's just a one night thing you know, I'm not going to sprout feelings for you or anything. No expectations." She offered a soft smile, while he returned after a moment.

"I know…I just, well I don't normally just take girls home—well not _home_-home—but I don't usually just—"

She arched a brow as he cut his rambling off, his cheeks darkened. The only real form of light was the moon shining through the window, so Georgia reached over to the crappy sidelamp and flicked the dim light on. "I get it. I don't usually go home with the first guy that makes eyes at me."

He gaped and averted his gaze. "I don't know what to do…"

She blinked. "You've never had sex before?"

He stuttered. "Well _yes_, I have, but not like this."

"In a dingy hotel with a foreign girl after a 30 minute conversation at a bar?" she asked carefully.

He nodded. "I don't do things like this…"

She grinned. "But you _have_ done things…" she trailed off as she toed her shoes off and reached behind her back to fumble with the zip. After a moment he hesitantly stepped over to her and turned her around, fingers deftly unzipping her. His fingers brushed against her bare skin as the dress fell to the ground and pooled at their feet. She twisted around and reached for his shirt. "Your turn."

He complied, but had to take the shirt off himself in the end because she couldn't quite reach up enough to remove it for him, even on tip toes. She helped him undo his shorts and push them down until they made a matching pile next to her dress.

It was then he noticed the gun still strapped to her thigh, and balked, flinching backwards a little. "Sorry." He apologised. "I didn't realise that you would be carrying…"

She unstrapped the thigh holster. "It's okay." She set it down on the bedside table carefully, within arm's reach of the bed should it be needed. They stood there for a moment, awkwardly, dressed in only their undergarments. "Are you oaky?" she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "We can stop, if you'd like."

He met her gaze and shook his head. "No, I do want to…if you do."

She nodded. "If it helps, you can pretend I'm someone else."

He started and stuttered. "Why would I do that?"

She bit her lip. "Because I'm using this to _forget_ someone else."

He nodded sombrely after a moment. "I see." He hung his head for a moment before turning away to sit on the bed, staring at the floor. "Thank you for being honest with me."

She bit her lip harder and gingerly stepped over to kneel in front of him on the hard floor. She reached out to take his hands, drawing his gaze up to her. "Antonio…I don't want to be dishonest. If I've upset you, I'm sorry. I'll get dressed and leave, whatever you need. I didn't mean to hurt you." And she hadn't meant to. But it appeared she had.

He shook his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. "No, no, it's not that." He sighed and played with her fingertips. "I…I haven't been honest either. I mean, I don't want to be dishonest."

"What's wrong?" Goose bumps rippled over her skin in grim anticipation. He wasn't making her feel any better with his odd wording.

"I—" he gritted his teeth, and tugged on her hand. She followed his encouragement and came up to sit next to him. "This was a set up."

She froze, and he continued to play with her fingers. "What do you mean?" a roiling dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.

He took a steadying breath, but wouldn't meet her eye. "My brothers…they force me to do this…and I hate it. I want to stop, I even got a room down the hall from the one they wanted me to get. They'll punish me for that for sure."

"So what was the plan for me?" she ground out, mind churning, eyes darting to her skirts where the communicator was.

He sighed. "They normally give me an hour or two. They bust in while we're…busy and take the girls."

Hot anger jerked through her. "How often do you do this?"

He winced. "A couple of times a week. Different bars."

She stood, removing her hands from his and stepping over to the side table. She deftly removed Peacemaker and levelled it at him, thumbing the safety off. He froze. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull the trigger."

The fact that he had been honest was enough for her. That he hadn't forced her to do anything. He hadn't grabbed her when she went for her gun. But she still needed to hear him try and reason some bullshit up.

"You should." He muttered softly after a few moments.

It was her turn to freeze. "You hate yourself that much?" what he was knowingly doing was definitely enough for her to want to pop one in his kneecaps, but something was staying her hand.

"Yes." His head was hanging low. He wasn't denying anything.

"You could have easily just lied to me. Like you lie to so many others. I probably would have believed it too."

"I know. You would have. And I could have. But you were honest about not actually doing this because it was _me _you were interested in. And I just…I have to break the cycle. They'll kill me for it probably, but if it's the only good I do in my life, then it's worth it that I let you go."

"How long have I got?"

"Just over an hour probably."

Georgia steeled herself. She was playing with fire. She was bound to get burned, but there was something about this boy that endeared him to her. Deep down, despite what he had been forced to do up until this point, he was good at heart. He might have the makings of a decent Overwatch agent even.

She thumbed the safety on, and replaced the gun back on the night stand. He blinked up at her. "What are you doing?"

She smirked. "Well, hopefully you."

He gaped, even as the flush rose up his neck. "You don't have to."

She carefully stepped between his legs until she was almost flush with him, and reached up to cradle his face. "I _want_ to. Whatever my reasons, I want to. Know that. You've bought me enough time, and I have other ways out of this."

"But there's not enough time." He tried to protest. Even now, with her standing there in her undergarments practically in his lap. Yes, he had a good heart.

Her smirk widened into a grin. "You're about to learn something; I'm a McCree. McCree's don't half ass anything, and our best pace is hard and fast." She trailed a hand down his cheek to his chin, brushing his lips with her finger tips. He shuddered. "You ready cowboy?"

His mouth slowly stretched into a smile, and his large hands found the curve of her hips, gripping her tightly. "You're really something else."

She laughed softly. "I know."

/0*0\

True to her word, it had been hard and it had been fast. But by the stars it had been _good_. They had been a tangle of limbs, kisses and rocking bodies, and after almost half an hour they were laid flat on the bed, chests heaving and skin covered in a sheen of sweat. She had tucked herself under his arm, and he was drawing patterns on her waist and arm with the hand she was tucked under. Her hair was slightly messy now, but still up in Brigitte's hairdo.

"Wow. You weren't wrong." He sighed contentedly.

She chuckled. "I know. I rarely am." She enjoyed the feel of his warmth for a few moments longer before removing herself and going in search of her clothes. As she fished out the communicator from her skirts he lifted himself up on his elbows to watch her. She glanced up at him and his lingering eyes and shit-eating grin. "What?"

"You're beautiful."

Her body flushed at his words, and she shook her head, half turning to shield herself from his gaze. She didn't know why she was embarrassed by the comment. She hadn't been before. "I need to call base. I'm going to call Athena to pick me up."

He arched a brow as she dialled and waited for the AI to pick up. She set the phone on speaker as she located her clothes and went about putting them on. "_Hello?_"

"Athena, it's Georgia. Can you send a car to my location?"

"_I cannot send a car without an agent to drive it._"

Georgia glared at the phone. "Fine. Wake Hanzo." She also didn't know why she'd said that. She just didn't want to worry Angela. She should have asked for Brig, but she couldn't take her words back now.

"_Very well Agent Georgia. I will send Agent Hanzo momentarily. He will be approximately 22 minutes and 40 seconds._" Georgia growled as she hung up the phone, and struggled to zip up the dress. Antonio rose a moment later to help her wordlessly.

"Was that an AI?" he asked curiously.

"Yeah. She's the base's AI. She takes care of almost everything. She's also a pain in the ass." Georgia restrapped Peacemaker to her thigh.

"Your agent friend won't get here in time." There was a worried tone to his voice.

"It's okay, the phone will have activated a tracker. Convenient Athena shit. They'll be able to follow me." She brushed down the rumples in her skirt as he dressed quickly, and went to look out the window. They had precious few minutes left before his brothers likely stormed the place. She looked down. They were backed onto an alley two storeys up, but there was a building opposite her that she could reach maybe.

"Why did you do this?" she glanced up at him imploringly, puzzled at his words. "I mean, after what I told you. Why did you still agree to sleep with me?"

"I told you, because I wanted to. Did I do something wrong?"

"God no, that's the best I've ever had." He flushed a deep crimson. "I just don't understand why, after what I said about this being a set up."

She paused a moment to gather her thoughts, still glancing out the window to calculate a way down and away without injuring herself. "Well, as you said you wanted to break the cycle. You wanted to stop this from happening again. You said you wanted to do good, but I think you can do so much more than live under your family's shadow."

His brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

She bit her lip before pressing the communicator into his hand. "Take this. Call me if this ever happens again, and I'll come and get you. We'll get the girl to safety, and then we'll go after your brothers."

His eyes bugged and he stared at her, dumbfounded. "What about that person you called to pick you up?"

"Hanzo can track me if I leave a trail. I want to help you." She turned back to him and reached up to pull him gently down to her level, and pressed a kiss to his lips. A moment later he had his arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her up and pressed her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, opening herself to him and conveying her desperate promise through their exchange. She hoped he understood. They pulled away after a minute or two and he set her down.

They were pulled out of their reverie by a muffled commotion outside the door, and Antonio went over and peeked out the door. He swiftly pulled himself back inside and hurried over to her. "Go, it's my brothers!" he whispered urgently.

Her eyes widened. "Okay, but remember to _call me_. Call the last number that's been dialled and ask for Georgia McCree. Make sure you remember my last name, they'll know it's serious."

"Yes, yes of course, now go!" he was practically pushing her out the window at this point. She hopped up gingerly on the window sill in bare feet, and glanced back at him. He motioned with his hands for her to hurry, and the commotion outside was getting steadily louder. "Go!"

She fixed him with a desperate look. "_Promise me_."

He nodded vigorously. "I will call, yes, now _go_!"

She nodded and braced herself before turning back out towards the alley. Staying had been a stupid idea. She should have just gone when he'd told her. _But she just had to bite off more than she could chew_. Hmph. She was pretty sure that was a family trait. She took a deep breath and glanced at Antonio one last time.

Then she flung herself across the narrow yet terrifying dark space below, and scrambled at the darkened window sill of the opposite building. She managed to find a grip, although barely. Her bare feet were a bit harder to find purchase on the smooth bricks, but through sheer will power she managed. She hefted herself up the frame and scrambled for the next one. She was ever thankful for Hanzo's training at this point, she would have been a sitting duck otherwise.

She heard shouting below her as she gripped the top of the guttering and grunted as she hauled herself up onto the shingles. She chanced a look down to their window, and saw an older, angrier version of Antonio staring up at her, cussing and shouting in Spanish. She saw the glint of a barrel as a gun was levelled up at her, and she sucked in a breath and scrambled as fast as she could up and over the shingles.

She wasn't fast enough. She felt more than heard the shot, and cried out as a hot bullet ripped across her left thigh. A glancing shot luckily, but it was now bleeding through her skirts, hot and red. She winced as she rounded the point of the roof and tumbled over the other side, sliding down it and barely managing to stop herself before rolling off to a three storey drop. She stopped, panting, and waited. She could hear more shouting, and various windows lit up with the yellow glow of lights being flickered on. She probably had ten minutes before the police showed up. She doubted Antonio's gang were hanging around to catch up with them, so she had some time to get away from the scene. It was only a matter of time before she was seen. She wasn't exactly inconspicuous in her not bloody sundress and bare feet and legs.

Engines revved in the street below and faded into the distance, which was followed a few minutes later with the faint sound of sirens. She gritted her teeth and made to stand, but her damaged thigh protested and she slipped back onto the shingles. She wouldn't make a climb down without hurting herself more. She looked over to the next roof, and gauged the distance. It was a flat roof, concrete, and half a storey below her. She could make it and roll, maybe.

She slid down to the edge of the roof, and settled into a seated crouch, steeling herself. After a few steadying breaths she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed, and launched herself. She closed her eyes, stupidly, to avoid potentially watching her fall to several broken bones, and so she didn't see the gravelly concrete coming up fast. She hit it hard, ripping several layers of skin off her exposed shoulders and knees as she rolled haphazardly to a stop on her front. Her grazed cheek bit into the cold concrete of the roof and she sighed. She ached where she'd been hurt, but otherwise she was intact.

She hefted herself to her knees and glanced around. She crawled over to a set of crates she'd spied and sat against them, and checked her bullet wound. It was still bleeding, so she ripped some of the hem of her dress off and tied it around her leg, pulling it tight over the wound. She winced and hissed as she tied it off, but hopefully that would staunch the blow. She sat there for a long while, listening to the whirl of sirens and the rustle of people roused in the middle of the night. She listened for any sign that she was in immediate danger, but there was none. Except for the danger she had put herself in.

She wished she had Angela's drug dispensary on tap. It would make everything hurt a lot less.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a dark shadow passed over her and she cracked her eyes open to see Hanzo hovering above her. He looked both concerned and livid, which was a hard feat to pull off considering his face seemed perfectly even. He had his quiver slung over his shoulder and his bow in his left hand. He reached out to her tentatively and gently rested his free hand on her shoulder.

He looked her over as best he could in the dark, and grimaced as he noticed her leg with the ripped dress used as a makeshift bandage. He slung his bow over his shoulder and across his chest carefully, and very gently picked her up, cradling her to his chest. She tucked herself under his chin, and he very carefully descended back down to the road. She fell asleep to the steady padding of his stride, all the way back to the car. She didn't even wake to his hazardous driving.

/0*0\

The minute they got back, Hanzo sent a message to Angela to meet them in the infirmary. He was careful to mind the worst of her injuries, and was glad she wasn't awake. He was glad that everyone else wasn't awake either. He doubted that he needed _that_ inquiry. As far as he had been aware she had joined the other women for a girls' night, and the most he had gotten when they had come back without her was a pitying shrug from Brigitte. He hadn't wanted to know what that meant. He did now; as he carried her quietly to the medical wing all he could smell over her soft perfume was faint alcohol, dingy, musty sheet smell and the heady musk of man. Another man. That's why she hadn't come home. And she'd sent Athena to come and get him with things had gone south.

Why him, he didn't know. Thank god the car Athena had directed him to had an auto pilot function the AI could use to drive for him most of the time. Angela had thrown her coat over her pyjamas and was prepping one of the check-up rooms by the time Hanzo reached it, and was as grim-faced as he when she took in Georgia's injuries under the harsh lights.

He set her down flat on her back and went to turn away when the doctor stopped him. He settled down into one of the seats against the wall and watched her as she worked. There was a lot of flush involved, and her dressed was completely cut away to reveal the gravel rash scattered over her shoulders, back and legs. The most attention she spent was on the wound on her leg. If Hanzo had to guess, it was a bullet wound. Flesh, by the looks of it, but nothing major. It would still hurt like hell when she woke up though.

Angela's sharp voice broke him out of his reverie. "What happened?"

"I do not know." It was the truth. It was a very poor amount of information, but it was all he had. "I found her on a rooftop three buildings away from the co-ordinates Athena gave me."

"I should have never let her go off by myself." The doctor chastised herself.

Hanzo arched a brow. "I hardly see how this is your fault."

"I was responsible for her, and this happened. Where's her communicator?"

Hanzo's brow pinched together. "I never found one."

Angela frowned as she kept working, cleaning wounds and applying a pale cream to her rashes and the closed bullet wound. "Silly girl."

Angela worked efficiently for the next few minutes, glad for the fact her worst wound was an easily stitchable flesh graze from a bullet. Not a pleasant one by any means, but it was a very simple fix. The cream was her own design, and worked effectively in localised areas where it was applied. The nanite tech in it would close the grazes by the time she woke later in the morning and the bullet wound would be healed in a day or two.

"I am finished. You can take her to her room." Angela motioned for him to stand as she pulled a waffle blanket out of a cupboard and draped it over her patient. He stepped over and carefully picked her up again. She instinctively curled up under his chin again, and her hands reached for the edge of his robe. She curled her fist in the collar of it and tugged herself closer. He went to turn away.

"Hanzo."

He stopped and turned back to the doctor. "Yes Dr Zeigler?"

She was watching Georgia with a concerned pinch in her brow as she removed her gloves. Her eyes were tired, and she looked ready to fall back into bed. "Why did she contact you, out of all of us? Why _you_ specifically?"

"I do not know." He muttered after a long pause. He had a very good guess why, but he wasn't about to let the girl's secret crush on him become common knowledge to the woman who seemed dead set against him from the beginning. He didn't need more death glares over dinner.

Her lips drew into a thin line. "Very well. Thank you for getting her home safely. She is very precious to us."

He inclined his head and took the sleeping, battered gunslinger to bed, his heart stuttering every time she nuzzled up to his chest. She was difficult to detangle from when he got there, her hands clinging to his robe and her face buried in his collarbone, breathing him in. Gods she was difficult, even in sleep. He eventually managed, and paused at the door before he left to make sure she was okay. She sighed in her sleep and curled up into a little ball, cocooning herself snuggly in the blanket wrapped around her. He turned away and headed towards his room. Her door sliding shut behind him was the most deafening sound on the entire base as he turned and walked down the hall.


	10. The Morning After

**Well we're back, a little late but here is the next chapter! It drove me nuts because it never seemed quite right.. but I'm as happy with it as I'm going to get. Thanks for reading if you're back after such a long wait!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Overwatch**

* * *

Chapter Ten: The Morning After

The dull ache everywhere was the first thing Georgia noticed when she woke up. The next thing was the softness of the bed sheets she was tucked into. The third was wafting aroma of a fresh cup of coffee on her sidetable. She cracked her eyes open into the dim room, the only light peeking through beneath the blinds that had been drawn shut.

Her head was pounding, and as she tried to sit up the room spun a little, and she flopped back down into the safety of her pillow. She remembered the boy, Antonio, and the brief moment they had shared, and she remembered getting shot on the roof. Nothing was registering after that. She groaned and rolled over onto her side, curling up as close as she could to the edge and feebly reaching out for the coffee.

"You could always ask for help." She started at the deep voice. For a second she thought she heard the deep twang and drawl of her father, but a moment later disappointment swept over her as she realised it wasn't him, but Hanzo. Her heart perked up a lot at that, but it was still sore about the small, sleep addled hallucination she had just had.

"Hey, what are you doing in here?" she heaved herself into as much of a sitting position as she could as he reached over and handed her the mug. He was seated on her desk chair, and was dressed in his casual dress pants and a shirt. It was about as casual as he got, having never worn the jeans he bought since the first time he'd worn them.

"Checking in on you." he frowned at her. "Dr Ziegler patched you up last night. You need to be more careful."

She winced. "Right. Sorry I called you, probably should have called Brig or Lena."

He shook his head. "What you did was irresponsible. And stupid."

She arched a brow at him. "Didn't know you cared so much." She mumbled into her coffee. She saw him wince slightly at her words.

"You could have been injured far worse. Why did you stick around?" he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on the chair. He folded one of his legs over the other. It pulled his clothes taunt in all the right places; it made it hard for Georgia to think.

She steeled herself, berating her brain for betraying her yet again where Hanzo was concerned, and levelled her gaze with his as she took a sip of her coffee. "Because I wanted to sleep with him."

Hanzo froze. "Who?"

"I don't see why it should bother you?" she took a long gulp from the mug. "About who he was and whether or not I wanted to sleep with him. It's none of your business."

He gritted his teeth. "It matters a great deal."

"Why so?" hope fluttered in her chest, and she tried to play it as cool as she could.

"Because you almost got yourself killed for a quick fuck." The bluntness of his words stung less than what he was implying about the situation. "Is that all you young people think about? It's a wonder you survive very long." He shook his head.

"Wow. Coming from the old prude in the corner." She scoffed, anger taking over. "It wasn't _hormones_ I was trying to appease. I was trying to forget some feelings I have about certain people."

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, disbelief in his eyes. "You do not cease to cause me disbelief."

"Is that a butchered way of saying I surprise you?"

He fixed her with a stare. "You avoided our training for a 'girl's night', and then called _me_ in the middle of the night to come and rescue you! From a gang who would have done far worse than that boy was saying they would do, no less."

"How do you know what he said?"

"Athena is very helpful."

Georgia growled. "I'm seriously going to kill her one of these days. She can't keep it to her damn self."

"I should have left you there." He had mumbled it to himself more than to her, and it gave her pause. The thumping in her head had died down a lot, and sitting upright gave her a decent vantage point to observe him. He had small but dark bags under his eyes, and his face looked tired and worn, despite his perfect appearance. He had obviously been up for a good portion of the night, and the doctor probably wasn't faring any better.

But that knowledge didn't take the sting out of his words. "Maybe you _should_ have left me there."

He winced visibly. "I did not mean it in that way."

She softened. "Yes you did." She reached over to rest a hand on his knee. She could feel strength and heat radiate through the material of his pant leg and into her palm. "But I'm glad you didn't. Thanks for coming to get me."

/0*0\

Hanzo met her gaze, and his shoulders sagged slightly as he met her soft, doe-like eyes. She was incredibly, incredibly stupid. He and the doctor had been up for hours watching over her; he had had little sleep. He had sent Angela to bed when she started swaying on her feet, had brought Georgia to her room and then had tried to get some sleep himself. It hadn't really worked all that well, considering he was still up at the crack ass of dawn with two coffees. He didn't like the taste all that much, but he had come to appreciate the beverage's usefulness. Especially on little sleep with the need to be functioning.

No matter how stupid she was, or how much trouble and danger she put herself in, he found he couldn't stay mad about it. She was slowly becoming his kryptonite, and it was maddening. Even more so when _he_ was being an arse, and she was somehow able to thank him for it? Maddening. Maddeningly endearing, sweet, and bloody irresistible. He didn't deserve it, not by a long shot. He'd just implied it would have been better to leave her there for god's sake.

He swallowed hard. "Of course I came to get you." He mumbled back.

She almost smirked. "You only did it because the others would literally skin you alive if you didn't."

He almost found the humour in her comment, but something in her eyes stopped him. There was a sort of plea there, a need for something he couldn't quite bring himself to recognise. She needed him as a friend, and he had been giving his friendship to her for weeks now, but she needed proof. Proof that it wasn't in vain, proof that her efforts hadn't been wasted either. There was a desperation there that implied something more, but maybe he was just imagining that. Her hand burned on his knee, and her fingers grasped at his pant leg as she waited for his answer.

"I did it because you are my friend, and you needed me." He offered her quietly.

She retracted her hand slowly, and sat up a little straighter. She winced as she moved her leg, but Angela had given her extra stuff so it would heal quickly, and no one would ever know what had happened unless the beans were spilled. She smiled gently to herself beyond the rim of the mug, and he was glad she was satisfied with his answer. He had been worried she had wanted him to say more, and he wasn't sure if he could. Never mind the fact he shouldn't imply anything beyond a friendship, he knew he would never be able to take it back if he did say something, and their precarious little bond might shatter. Or strengthen. And he wasn't entirely convinced he was ready for either of those options to occur.

They sat in companionable silence for a few more moments before Georgia spoke. "I have to go on a town run later. Wanna come?"

"I would be honoured." This was the fourth time she'd asked now, and the fourth time he'd accepted. She didn't bother asking her sister anymore. He was sure her asking was a polite way of reminding him that it was now a solid part of their routine, and that if he refused she wouldn't be pleased about it.

"Awesome. I'll have a shower and get some proper clothes on. Meet you in the vehicle bay in half an hour?"

He arched a brow. "Are you fine to drive?"

"I think so. I'll swing by the med bay and pick up some painkillers though. I'll face Angela's wrath later, she hates me doing it." She'd snuck painkillers once or twice before when she'd strained something during their training, or hurt herself beyond what she could handle without them. She would definitely need them if she wanted to drive her van.

"Very well." He stood, and she offered him her mug. He took it wordlessly, knowing he would get berated if he didn't, and replaced her chair at her desk before leaving her to it.

He managed to avoid the others on the way to loiter in the vehicle bay to wait. He didn't particularly wish to face his brother, and he definitely didn't want the pity that he was sure to get from Brigitte. Anything that went on with the southerner, she seemed to hear about. And what with the crush situation, he dreaded the thought of acknowledging who Georgia was trying to forget by using sex with a stranger as a strategy. He was fairly certain it was him, based on all the evidence presented to him, and it made his blood boil. Unfairly so, he had no intention of even acknowledging the girl's feelings, lest he wish to be drawn and quartered. It was a conflict within him that had been plaguing him for a few weeks now, and his dragons weren't helping.

They preened over her when they were alone, fawning and throwing themselves at her and she lapped it up. She petted them and smooched them, and he was sure if they were corporeal she would spoil them rotten with food. She was bad for their focus, but it didn't irk him the way it used to. It was wholesome to see the three of them interacting, endearing even.

The pair of dragons emerged from his tattoos a few minutes later, sensing her before he did. They swayed and preened each other as she approached, a little stiff but looking like she was managing fine. She grinned and petted them before nodding at him and turning to the driver's door of her van. She grimaced as she opened the door, and took a moment to brace her arms before using her good leg to heft herself in. She got it wrong at the last minute, and her boot slipped on the footstep, and she almost tumbled back onto her arse.

Almost.

Hanzo had moved without thought, without blinking, and was now acutely aware of his hands on her waist, supporting her weight and preventing her from braining herself on the concrete of the hanger. He felt more than heard her suck in a breath, and hurriedly helped her right herself, before helping her into the cab with as little contact as he could get away with.

He was glad for the short walk around to the other side of the van. He used it to steady himself, and reducing the glaring flush on his neck down below the collar of his jacket. He settled into the passenger seat, and his dragons settled on the centre comm between them as she started the van. She winced as she worked the pedals, but seemed to push through whatever trouble her leg was causing her, and they eased their way out of the hanger and down the mountain road to town.

/0*0\

Georgia sighed quietly to herself. Hanzo had been quiet for most of the ride and their tea break stop at the coffee shop. He hadn't let her help run the mechanic errands, or the errand to the pharmacy for Angela. He was staring into his cup, taking sips occasionally and avoiding eye contact with her. She wasn't sure what had brought this strange behaviour on, but she wondered if it was her.

Last night's events had been troubling for them both, she was sure. But she was grateful for him; he could have ignored her call. But he hadn't. Her chest warmed at his words from earlier, that she was his friend and he cared. They'd never said it in so many words before. They'd always been careful. Well, _he'd_ always been careful of what he said and did. Georgia had reined herself in if only for his sake. She wasn't sure his proper etiquette and sensibilities could handle her at her full personality. She was also pretty sure the others would have skinned him alive if he so much as looked at her wrong. Except probably Brig. _She_ would probably make a lewd joke and let them have at it.

She sighed. If only it were that simple. But it wasn't. He meant more to her than that, and she wanted to make certain of his feelings—even platonic—before even thinking of making a move. She scoffed. Like she ever would. This was the first time she had spent more than a passing thought on a man, and she hadn't even so much as flirted with him. Well, maybe a _little_ bit of flirting. The thought of this being something more than a lustful desire both terrified and exhilarated her.

She knew her aversion to commitments and attachments was deep rooted in her familial issues. Her father leaving had caused deep emotional scars that she wasn't quite ready to address, even though everyone had been so good to her and they were her family. It just wasn't quite the same thing.

"Hanzo?" she asked softly after a few minutes deliberating on what to say.

He glanced up at her with an arched brow. His version of a 'yes, what's up?'.

She sighed. "Thank you. I know I've said it already, but I mean it, okay? It _was_ incredibly stupid, and probably some of it was based on hormones." She chuckled wryly. "So thank you, for saving me _and_ being my friend."

He inclined his head. "Such thanks are not necessary, or deserved. But I appreciate your words."

She rolled her eyes. "This again? Hanzo, you need to stop beating on yourself. You're trying to be a better person right? So quit hating on yourself. It won't help."

It was his turn to sigh. "You do not understand what it is I have done, so you cannot fathom what it is I have to atone for."

"You speak too much." She shook her head. "And don't pull that 'I'm older therefore I'm wiser' shit on me." She fixed him with a brief stare. "It doesn't work. Not when I grew up around fucking saints and all that comes out of their mouth is 'higher justice' shit. Also I know you're bullshitting me. I used to climb through the vents as a kid. You hear a lot of things adults don't want you knowing."

He shook his head. "You crawled through vents to eavesdrop?"

She chuckled. "That's what you took away from what I said?"

"Not a very noble thing to do." His lips quirked up in a small yet amused smile.

She shrugged, glad she'd gotten him away from gloomy topics. "Someone had to be a delinquent in an organisation where they were all basically Saints of Justice."

"Saints of Justice?"

"My nickname for all the senior staff. They had rods so far up their arses they couldn't bend over." She smiled back at him, enjoying the moment. He shook his head, but that amused quirk was still there, tugging at the corner of his mouth. It made her bold, a bit brash, to know she could make him smile. He very rarely smiled at anyone else except his brother occasionally.

The rest of the trip passed by uneventfully, and by the time they reached the base again he had lapsed into silence once more. Georgia remained distracted for the rest of the afternoon and evening by her leg, and struggled to keep a straight face as the painkillers wore off and she was left with a throbbing thigh.

She did somehow managed to skive dinner off onto Brigitte, who she had very briefly detailed what had sort of happened. Her sister was, to put it mildly, fucking pissed. But she understood, in the way only Brig could. She did receive a lecture on how she was to never sleep with gang members ever again, because Brigitte didn't want to find her baby sister lying in a ditch somewhere, but other than that she pretty much avoided the topic with everyone else.

/0*0\

It was late at night when she found herself sitting on a gangway in the training range. She hadn't been able to sleep, the rooftop moments from the other night flashing in her mind every time she felt herself drop off. She didn't understand it; all the other members weren't bothered by being shot at or worse. She wasn't a stranger to watching people shoot each other either. Maybe it was different this time because it had been her that was the target. She was dressed in her pyjamas, systematically unloading and reloading Peacemaker. Sitting there numbly had afforded her mind a lot of time to think. It felt like Peacemaker was the most important thing she needed in her hands right now. She was in the process of unloading when she heard the shuffle of fabric behind her. She whipped around instantly, Peacemaker raised to head height. Never mind the fact in was actually partially loaded and she was levelling it at a member of her Overwatch family.

Hanzo just arched a brow at the barrel in his face, and she jerkily lowered the gun. She swallowed thickly. "What do you want Hanzo?"

The hesitation in her voice gave him pause, and he regarded her carefully. "I was coming back my room when I saw you leave yours. I am merely curious." He was holding his bow, and his quiver was slung over his shoulders.

"Oh." She hesitated before sighing and turning back around to face the sky. She put Peacemaker beside her, and jerked her head at him. "Sit? Please."

The other brow rose to join its partner on his forehead, but he complied, more curious than annoyed at her behaviour. He moved around to sit beside her, thigh almost brushing hers before moving his quiver and bow onto his lap.

She took a moment to compare the two of them. She was barefoot while he was in his robes and armoured greaves, the metal moulded to the shape of his shins. The toes and heels where separated metal supports for his feet, with the arch of his foot free, to allow for maximum mobility. Torb had outdone himself this time, taking in the assassin's needs and turning out top notch armour specialised for him. She wondered if she would ever get such a privilege.

She was scantily clad in her shorts and camisole, and the air up on top of the mountain was crisper and cooler than down at sea level. With the lights off in the base, and being so high up the craggy mountain, the stars and moon were visible in the night sky. Hanzo followed her gaze wordlessly. There were no clouds, and so the moon lit the range fairly decently, despite it not being full. The stars twinkled quietly down at them as they sat there in companionable silence.

Georgia shivered as a chilled breeze tousled her hair and she clutched at her revolver desperately. Hanzo silently removed his robe and slung it around her shoulders. He was bare chested, but his thick pants would keep him warm for the time being. His two dragons emerged and curled around her, heads resting on her hands. He waited.

He had been angry before, but realised that perhaps he had been pushing her too hard, too fast. Now he was just content to wait patiently for his friend to speak. Or not speak; should she simply need his company he would oblige. But it would be useful to have some kind of inkling as to what was going on inside her mind.

"I couldn't sleep tonight." She muttered eventually. "I was trying to—but all I could see when I closed my eyes was the barrel of that gun pointed at me."

Hanzo carefully reached out to touch her shoulder. "Georgia?"

He could see tears reflected in the moonlight as they welled up and tracked down her cheeks, and he drew his hand away slightly, not sure what she needed. He hadn't had to ever deal with something as delicate as this.

"It was so big, I—I couldn't do anything. I was climbing over the roof at the time." A subtle rage boiled in Hanzo's blood. He knew the details about what had happened, but to hear her so shaken by it… he wasn't sure what else he had been expecting. He doubted she had ever been shot at before now. His dragons sparked with electric blue, feeling what he was feeling. "My dress ripped too… I could feel the blood running down my leg. I never shot back at him."

Hanzo attempted to school his features, but he did a poor job of it. "You did the best thing in the situation. You escaped, you lived."

She started at the word, but turned to look at him. She reached up to wipe the tear tracks away. "I guess… but it's not what any of the others would've done."

"And what do you think the others would have done, in your position?" he asked.

"I don't know… Lena might reverse her timestream to get back in the room? Maybe take them out? Rein probably would have waited for them and left them in a pile in the corner." She scowled a little. "Even Angela might have done something more. I did nothing."

He growled back. "I will not let you feel sorry for yourself and drown in this. You must process it, yes, but you must rise above it and move on before it consumes you."

She eyed him. "And you're the expert how?"

"I spent 15 years wallowing in my brother's death, turning the events over every which way I could. In the end, I did do it. I hurt my brother. But the Shimada Elders decided he had betrayed the clan and that his punishment was to be death. They made me do it to ensure I was loyal." His voice was bitter with resentment. "I have wasted the past 15 years thinking Genji dead, wallowing in my shame and anger at the clan. I drowned in my feelings, thinking I was seeking honour and redemption, but all I really achieved as a hollowness and a guilty conscience."

She watched him quietly, her face soft. "I think you became a better, stronger person for it though."

He blinked at her. "Hm. And so you shall be too, when you rise from this. You will be wiser and stronger."

She averted her gaze to her hands, where his dragons were cooing softly to her. "You think so?"

"I do."

"So how do I get stronger?"

"By accepting what has happened was no fault of yours, and you did what needed to be done in that situation. And by training twice as hard, to never be put in that position again. You will not be helpless if you allow me to train you until I deem you ready." He sounded confident in his words, but truthfully that was what he would need to hear. He had no idea what _she_ needed to hear.

But it seemed to work all the same. "Thank you Hanzo." Her voice was broken and soft, but he could hear her natural strength underneath it all, ready to rise once more.

He raised a hand to her shoulder and squeezed, causing her to look up at him. He gave her a small smile.

She hummed and leaned into his touch, relishing the warmth of him and his dragons as they sat there. They didn't go back inside until the moon dipped and the sun began to wake up the sky.


	11. The Good Doctor

**A very short chapter from the perspective of Angela Ziegler. Hope you guys enjoy!**

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Chapter Eleven: The Good Doctor

Angela watched Georgia huff and stalk out of the large science lab that their resident monkey inhabited. She was in a foul mood, having once more tried to convince their ragtag leader to send her out on the next mission with Rein and Genji. The doctor glanced up at Winston, who was grumbling to himself and rubbing the back of his neck, fiddling with one of his prototypes.

"Winston?" she started. He grunted in reply, and she took that as leave to continue. "I feel it is time Georgia became a fully-fledged member."

He sighed and glanced over at her. This wasn't the first conversation they'd had about this, and she doubted she would be the last. "I just don't think she's ready; she's too…"

"Stubborn and hotheaded?" Angela offered.

Winston grimaced. "Yes, exactly. We can't risk that out in the field, especially since we're not exactly allowed to operate." He fumbled about for a moment in search for a different tool than the one he was holding, and looked back up at her once he had found it. "Besides, you're the most against it. And you still won't tell me why the change of heart."

The doctor sighed and fiddled with the cuffs of her white coat sleeves. "I just…I think it's time we listened to what Georgia wants, and not what we think she needs. She has become a very capable young woman over the last few months."

And she had; she was flying through her medic training after being tossed in the deep end. She could assist the doctor with anything now, and she picked up the slack in the cleaning and cooking department tenfold. She ran errands to not rouse suspicion of the base being used again, and she was a very impressive shot with her pistol. She had more than earned this for herself. But they were all protective of her; Jesse McCree had been an incredibly likeable member of Overwatch, and by proxy his very sweet little girl had won their hearts too. It was difficult for them to let go of that, and see her for the woman she was now and not the child she was then—especially for Angela.

She had been affected by McCree leaving almost as much as Georgia had been. But she'd picked up as many pieces as she had been able to, and had carried on. She knew the risks of getting close to the cowboy. He'd spelt them out for her very clearly. And she'd come to see his little spitfire of a daughter as her own; trying to see her as a woman capable of leaping onto a battlefield was almost impossible to stomach.

But she herself had been very young when she'd been recruited, and had been thrown into the deep end more times than she could count as a combat medic on the field. She'd proved herself, despite her age. It was time they allowed Georgia to do the same.

She huffed. It was difficult to skirt around details she would rather not share when trying to press her point to their leader though. He huffed in reply. "Angie, she's just so young. I don't see it panning out well."

"So is Brigitte, and Lena was too once. They've proved themselves, why can't Georgia?" she frowned at him and planted her hands on her hips sternly.

"I don't think she is ready."

"Devise a plan then, _train_ her. She's gaining skills rapidly, you know. I can trust her in the medical wing by herself now, she would make an excellent combat medic."

Winston hummed and frowned, the cogs of his mind whirring. "I guess."

"You can't send me unless it's necessary, I'm too needed here, fixing our agents and developing and building technologies to assist. But Georgia has more than enough skills for the field."

She could see her argument starting to wear him down. The ape sighed and ran a large hand over his face, ruffling his fur in the process. "Okay, I'll think about it."

Angela allowed herself a small smile as she strolled back to her office, her short heels clacking on the floor as she went. The echo of them indicated she was probably alone, the others off doing various things. She entered her office and went through to the lab, to a bench that was halfway through the making process of her medical technologies. Nanite tech was incredibly useful on the field, and she was constantly making it for the others to take. They went through too much of it, and their lab bill was always too high because of the need to order more. She'd had to dilute the mixture to a point where it would work still, but would also stretch over more batches.

It was an incredibly precise process, and she'd had to redo her calculations several times over before attempting to make the diluted version in order to preserve resources. She sat down on the sole metal stool in front of the bench, and folded her hands in her lap.

Her heart was beating faster than it should, but she knew the reasons without having to guess. Winston had agreed to train Georgia formally (or as formally as they could since they didn't have access to the majority of the training programs here), and she'd been the one to convince him. Georgia would be thrilled.

She reached slowly into her left hand pocket, feeling past a couple of pens until she brushed against a piece of paper. She froze and glanced around. She was alone, but she was always careful to check. Her fingers slowly pinched around the edge of the paper, and she drew it out just was slowly. She looked down at the folded piece of paper in her lap, and carefully used her other hand to unfold the fraying edges in order to keep it intact.

A small, sad smile graced her features as she gazed down at the revealed photograph. She reached out to touch it longingly, almost caressing the figure inside like a lover would. There were two figures; one was a much young version of herself, the other a young Jesse McCree. They were both laughing, and the camera had captured the moment at a funny angle, which had forced their shoulders and heads closed together as he'd struggled to keep the camera in his hand.

His arm was slung around her shoulders, and his hat was low on his head, his eyes sparkling beneath the brim while his mouth was cracked into a toothy grin. She looked equally happy, and she shivered, remembering the moment vividly. It was the first time he'd ever made her laugh so hard she'd snorted. She was red faced in the image, but had a huge grin on her face, mid laugh, her hands trying their best and failing to hid her face. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a pony tail in the picture, and she reached up to touch her cheek.

After the picture had been taken the camera had been forgotten about. He'd made a vague comment about her hair being a reflection of her mood, and had tugged it free of her hair tie. She remembered giggling and feeling flustered and nervous around the charismatic cowboy. He'd removed his hat and put in on her head, tipped the brim back far enough for him to duck down and catch her off guard. She could still feel the warmth of his lips on hers, even now. That had been the start of a very heartfelt and heart-breaking relationship between the two of them. But she treasured it.

She would always treasure the beautiful, elusive, loving, crass, seductive cowboy that was and still is Jesse McCree.


	12. The Scope of Emotion

**Another chapter managed to complete itself, and it such a short time too! Georgia's training progresses, and she's under quite a lot of strain it would seem with everything going on. Poor cinnamon bun :/**

**Disclaimer: x2 don't own Overwatch because I forgot last time**

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Chapter Twelve: The Scope of Emotion

Georgia inhaled through her nose and exhaled evenly through her mouth. She was staring down the scope of a sniper rifle at a target down the shooting range. It wasn't what she was used to by any means, but she had picked it up quicker than any of the others would have expected. Torb and Winston were sitting slightly behind her, directing her. Torbjorn was doing most of the directing though, while the monkey was making notes on his digital pad as they worked.

It had been a week of this so far, learning to shoot different weapons tacked on to her afternoon schedule. Not that she had a huge schedule, but her medbay work took up the majority of her morning and her training with Hanzo took up the majority of her night. In between those and her strained sleep, she was starting to wear out a little bit.

Not that that didn't mean she wasn't excited, she'd been beyond thrilled when Winston had called her in and said he had devised a training plan for her. Something about how Angela had appealed to his good nature, and their need for more combat medics. So here she was, working with a similar model of rifle to the kinamura, which was a rifle Torbjorn had designed for Ana Amari herself. She would use it for healing purposes, and would be kitted out with all manner of nanobotic darts to utilise on the field.

If she ever got there. Despite her excitement, she had noted that it was just a training plan, and Winston had neglected to mention an end goal for said training.

She continued to shoot and reload as directed, the feeling slightly foreign considering its difference to Peacemaker, but over the past few days it had become a rhythm. Shooting was mechanical at this point, no matter the weapon she used. It allowed her mind to wander a little, though she didn't let it stray far.

She was a little concerned that Antonio hadn't called her, but she figured it was a pretty bizarre situation to begin with. And she worried how much trouble he had been in after she'd escaped. She wondered if she would have to wait until they were close to or in Gibraltar until he called. She grimaced. That was a lot of girls in the meantime.

"Oi! Pay attention lass, you just missed a shot." Torbjorn scolding her jolted her back to the present, and she glanced back at him sheepishly.

"Sorry Torb, I guess my mind wandered." He grumbled but nodded, and gestured back to the range.

"Again, 800 meters." He folded his good arm over his prosthetic, and jerked his chin at her. A glance at Winston got her the same reaction, except the ape was tapping away on his pad.

She sighed and turned back to her scope. She fiddled with the lens for a moment to readjust to the shorter distance, and fought back a sudden pinpricking behind her eyes. No one seemed to want to have anything to do with her. She'd heard stories of older agents taking promising recruits under their wings, like how Morrison had favoured Lena, or how her dad had taken a liking to Genji. Rein had very much tucked Brigitte under his very large, armoured wing. The two males behind her seemed to be here out of obligation more than a want to train up their 'favourite' Overwatch baby. She had been one of three; Fareeha had been several years older than her and Brigitte only a few. But they seemed to have made their paths and forged ahead without many hiccups.

She on the other hand, seemed to be facing every single roadblock they could think of. If she was a favourite, she didn't feel like one. She blinked the watery tears away until she could see, and steadied her breathing. She peered down the sights and fondled the trigger, feeling the hard concrete through the thin mat she was lying on, and focused. She found the target that they wanted her to shoot, holes already scattered through it from the last few hours, and took a second to feel the shot.

It was different to using Peacemaker, she was lying down for one. There was not much feel of freedom when firing a bulky sniper rifle, but the rush of pulling the trigger and hitting her mark was the same. Sometimes it surged through her in an overwhelming adrenaline rush when she hit a mark over 1500 meters away, something she would never accomplish with Peacemaker, not even with Eagle-Eye. Eagle-Eye was limited by what she could physically see, despite how much her sight seemed to zoom. Her normal eye, even enhanced, she guessed would have trouble using Peacemaker at 2000 meters or over.

She inhaled to steady her hand. BANG. And exhaled as she released the trigger.

She sighed at the contemplative grunts from behind her, and winced as she made to stand, retracting herself from her prone position on the ground. She picked up the rifle and put the safety on. She slung the strap over her shoulder, and reached down to pack up the rifle rounds. They watched her do it, saying nothing. They'd all been sat there for several hours, so they quietly understood she needed a break.

She took the rounds back to the armoury and made her way down to the kitchen, ducking into her room on the way past to pick up her gun cleaning kit. It didn't need it—she'd only just cleaned it the other day when they taught her how to disassemble and reassemble it—but she wanted to do it anyway. She needed to get faster at it.

She sat down at the empty table, not noticing her sister standing at the stove on the other side of the room. Brigitte glanced around, startled as the rifle was set on the table with probably more force than necessary, and Georgia immediately started disassembling it.

Concerned, Brig turned the pan she was cooking bacon in down so it wouldn't burn, and strode over to the table. The screech of a chair pulling out beside the southerner caused her to jump, and she looked over at Brig with wide eyes.

"Jeez Brig, you almost gave me a heart attack." She held a hand over her heart as her chest heaved as she brought her breathing back to normal.

"Are you okay Gee Gee?" Brig reached out to place and hand over Georgia's free one.

"I'm fine Brig, why wouldn't I be?" Georgia smiled a little too brightly up at her sister.

Brig sighed. "You can't fool me _flicka_. Something is bothering you."

Georgia retracted her hand and started on the rifle, lest she started fidgeting. Then Brig would really know something was wrong. "Nothing, not really. I just find it weird how no one seems to _want_ to train me, unless they have to."

Brig offered a reassuring smile. "Hey, it'll get better. You know papa's a hardass, he grilled me in the workshop too. He just wants you to be safe."

"I guess." Georgia was silent a moment as she took the barrel apart. "But Winston just sits on his pad the whole time. I guess measuring me? It's just weird and I find it a bit uncomfortable."

"So just say that!" Brig patted her sister on the shoulder.

Georgia ran a hand through her hair to get it out of her face before removing the scope. "I risk them turning around and refusing to train me if I do that. You know how much everyone is against me going on the field. If I don't seem ready, I'll be back a square one."

"And are you ready?"

Georgia sighed. "I've been ready for what seems like forever."

"Then you'll be fine." Brig stood up and made her way back to the stove to her bacon. They stayed silent for a few minutes until Brigitte finished up and put together her food, and walked over to the table again with two plated sandwiches in hand. "BLT?"

Georgia glanced up from her hunched position over the barrel piece and her long brush shoved down the end with cleaner on it. "Oooh, yes please. I'm starved."

Brig laughed and handed her the plate as she sat down and began munching on hers. Georgia wiped her hands on a stray rag and picked hers up, practically devouring it in a matter of moments. "Jeez, you weren't kidding Gee Gee."

She looked over sheepishly through greasy hands and the remains of her sandwich. "I last ate at breakfast. No wait, I grabbed an apple on my way from the med bay to the training range."

Brig shook her head. "I know I'm pretty bad when I'm in the workshop, but I'm not _that_ bad."

Georgia shrugged and wiped her hands on her jeans to get rid of any crumbs, and pushed the plate out of the way. "I'm being kept busy."

"Mmhmm. And how's Hanzo doing?" Brig leaned her face on her hands as she peered cheekily at her sister.

Georgia almost spluttered. Almost. "Uh, he's fine I guess? Why's that?"

"Well, you _have_ replaced me on the shopping run. I was just wondering if you're taking advantage of that."

"If by taking advantage you mean lowkey enforcing a coffee date, then yes."

Brig gave a low whistle. "Damn Gee Gee, now when are you going to jump him?"

Georgia's brows rose to her hair line and she visibly froze as she turned around to the elder girl. "Jesus Brig, that was a bit forward."

Brig shrugged. "No more forward than you usually are." Georgia's cheeks flushed a light rose.

"Yeah well, I don't know. He's not into me that way. Not to mention I'm pretty sure Genji would skin him alive if he found out I'd slept with him."

"Really? The Great and Alluring Georgia McCree has found a man she can't seduce into bed with her?" Brig joked and they both giggled a bit. Georgia swept her hair off her face and fell quiet. Brig noticed the difference quickly, and put her hands up in a placating manner. "Gee Gee, I didn't mean it to upset you."

Georgia shook her head and flashed her sister a small, genuine smile. "You didn't. I just…this is different."

Brigitte arched a brow. "How?"

Georgia shrugged. "I don't know. If I ever do manage to get into his pants, I want it to mean more than just a fling. I don't want it to be a one-time thing."

Brig arched her other brow. "So, you want to have a casual relationship?"

Georgia sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "No, I don't want it to be just sex."

Brig's eyes widened. "Wait, you want to _commit_ to someone?" she'd never known her sister to pay more than a scrap of attention to a member of the male species, let alone want a relationship. Her father basically abandoning her had scarred her deeply, and they had never really talked about it, but Brigitte understood the emotional and psychological repercussions of it. Which was why she was beyond surprised to hear that she wanted more than just a sex-based relationship, but a real one.

"He's my friend, I think. I don't want to mess that up. I'm scared that if he ever did return my feelings, that I _would_ mess it up." She hugged herself and looked up at Brigitte imploringly. It was one of those moments that the elder needed to do the sisterly thing and comfort her and give her advice. Given Georgia's past, she wasn't entirely sure how to go about this. It was technically her first real crush—or love, depending on how it was looked at.

She reached out and took one of her hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Gee Gee, if that ever did happen, there's nothing that you could say or do that would mess it up so badly that he would leave you. He seems like an all or nothing kind of guy, and if you _did _manage to get with him, I doubt he would turn you away just like that."

Georgia hesitated for a moment before nodding and giving Brigitte a watery smile. It shocked the older girl, she'd never seen her sister like this before, worked up over a boy. Or, rather over a man. Maybe that was the difference. She had a lot more to lose with Hanzo; there was more at stake. Such as their professional relationship, which directly affected everyone else. Especially Genji, being his brother and practically her uncle.

"Oh Gee Gee, it'll be okay." She drew her into a hug, and it was only then Brigitte felt the small tremors going down her spine, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I'm sorry I didn't realise sooner."

"You couldn't have known Brig." Came the muffled reply from her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a few moments, the older comforting the younger, rubbing small circles into her back soothingly. She started humming a lullaby from her childhood that she used to sing to her when they'd first moved back to Sweden, after the disbanding of Overwatch. A small American girl in yet another foreign place with people she barely knew had been scary, but she'd won the young girl over quickly with a kind smile and a few lullabies to at least grant her a restful sleep. By the time she was halfway through the lullaby Georgia had stopped trembling, and by the end she had managed to even out her breathing back to normal.

She smiled through reddened cheeks and puffy eyes up at Brigitte, who patted her on the shoulder and squeezed lovingly. "I'm always here for you _flicka_."

That almost started another round of trembling tears, but Georgia managed to swallow it, and squeak out a reply. "Thanks Brig. That means more than you'll ever know."

"I have to go back to the workshop now, I'm working on Hanzo's grieves. You gonna be okay? I'll stay with you if you want."

Georgia waved her off. "No, I'll be fine. Thanks though. I'll catch you up later? I wanna watch movies tonight." She might just get one or two in before needing to head off to her night training with Hanzo.

Brigitte beamed. "Sure, I'll even let you pick." They both laughed, and Georgia was left to her quiet thoughts yet again as she left. She stared back down at her rifle, still disassembled on the table and halfway through a clean. She sighed and carefully picked up where she had left off.

/0*0\

Hanzo strode into the kitchen in search of a small snack, his bow still strung up and in one hand, his quiver hanging on his hip. He'd just spent a couple of hours practicing on the training range, and needed something small before dinner in a few hours.

There was soft clicking sounds as he scrounged the cupboards and came up with some cheese and crackers, and glanced over his shoulder in the direction of said noises. Georgia was sat at the table in the process of assembling a sniper rifle, cleaning equipment strewn about in front of her. Her hands more precisely, if shakily. Her brow was pinched in concentration as he made his way over and sat opposite her, placing his bow on the table in front of himself.

She growled as she struggled with the scope—the last piece—before realising something and turning it around. It clicked into place. "Dammit, almost flawless that time." She ran a hand through her hair and glanced up at him in greeting. "Hey Hanzo."

He inclined his head in reply. "It seems as though you are struggling."

She noted the careful phrasing of his statement, instead of a question. "Yeah. First time I've worked with anything other than a pistol. Torb made me disassemble and clean it at the beginning of the week, I thought I would get some practice in."

"Fair. It is wise to know your weapon as though it were the back of your hand." He took a bite out of a cracker and cheese, watching as she carefully yet precisely took it apart again.

After a few moments it was in pieces in front of her, and she sighed. "The idea is to train me as a combat medic. Though the rifle makes me think they want to keep me as far from the action as humanly possible." She hummed as she began slowly assembling it this time, making sure each part was fitted where it needed to be, memorising the muscle movements.

"It does not seem to be fitting for a combat medic to carry a rifle." He mused.

"It's a kinamura, a special rifle modelled and designed by Torb himself for Ana Amari, back during Overwatch's active period. It can shoot bullets, but it's designed for high powered darts, that were designed by Angela."

His brows rose. "And they had one lying around?"

She nodded hesitantly. "Sort of. This was the prototype just before the finished product. It works just the same, but is slightly less efficient than the one Amari famously used."

"And how are you progressing with this rifle training?"

She shrugged and began assembling it again. "I don't know what they're thinking, but I'm hitting everything they ask me to now. The first day or so it was mostly getting used to the gun. Now I think I've improved a lot. But I still need a _lot_ more practice."

He nodded understandingly, watching her hands work the rifle back together once more. Once assembled she drew her hands up to the scope, and, carefully pointing it away from him, spent a few moments adjusting the lens. Once satisfied with that, she grabbed a spare cloth from in front of her and began a final polish of the glass.

Her fingers were nimble and sure as she worked, her brow pinched in concentration. She was focused solely on the rifle, which was the only guess he had as to why his dragons hadn't popped out already. Determination washed off her in waves, almost intoxicatingly slow.

They sat there in a companionable silence for a long while before she spoke again, at this point uselessly cleaning an already sparkling barrel. "I might be late to training tonight, I asked Brig to hang out and watch a movie for a bit."

He inclined his chin, choosing not to say anything about it after the last time had ended up rather badly. "Very well. I will wait. But if you make no show by midnight, I will no longer be there."

She nodded. "I understand." She looked up at him and smiled softly. "Thanks Hanzo."

He nodded and swallowed, not saying anything as she stood from the table and gathered her things before walking out. He watched her go, her long hair swaying as she went. He resisted the curious thought of how soft it just might be to run his hands through it, finished his cheese and crackers, and left the kitchen to head back to his room. He needed to meditate.


	13. Misunderstandings

**So it's been a bit, and this ended up being a short chapter. More of a filler episode so to speak, as it didn't seem to fit with the next one which it was part of before it got its own chapter. The next chapter is rejigged and well on its way to being ready :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Overwatch **

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Misunderstandings

After cleaning her rifle in the kitchen, Hanzo had insisted she bring it along to that nightly training. She was sitting waiting for him on one of the crates around. She hadn't been late, thankfully, as the movie with Brig had been a short one. She'd had plenty of time to change and grab her rifle as well as Peacemaker, which was strapped into her hip holster. The rifle was slung over her shoulder, the strap tightened and crossing over her chest so it wouldn't slip off and get damaged.

She didn't have to wait too long for the stoic assassin to show up. They went through their warm up as usual, stretching and loosening muscles so as not to strain anything. And then the fun part—parkour while laden down with a sniper rifle and her weighted hip holster. She found it cumbersome at first. Normally they just used the extremely lightweight simulation dartguns, which strapped to her thigh snuggly. The guns banging around against her body while she traversed horizontal and vertical paths he dictated became painful after a while, and once or twice she'd slipped and banged her knees and hips on the way down due to the rifle accidentally catching the back of her leg as she attempted to climb or leap.

The extra weight also affected her ability to free run; she had underestimated how much just a few kilos extra of gun would mess up her fluid transitions between running, jumping and climbing. When they stopped for a break, she was pretty certain that she had more bruises and scrapes than the first night he'd tried teaching her.

"We should practice your hand to hand combat now."

She still hadn't quite caught her breath, so she was a bit puffed when she replied. "Sure." She went to unstrap the rifle and Peacemaker but he held up a hand to stop her.

"Leave them on. It will be good practice."

She spluttered. "But what if I roll on the rifle? I could break it, or hurt myself."

"That does seem to be a possibility. We shall see just how far you have come in your training." He was already standing and waiting for her in an open enough space for them to exchange blows.

She just looked at him for a moment before standing and adjusting the straps on both her guns. She mumbled under her breath about infuriating assassins as she stepped over to her in her slippered feet. He was in a relaxed stance, seemingly unguarded. But she knew he wasn't. She'd fallen for that one far too many times to count. He was waiting, but she needed to approach this carefully. She was weighted down with two guns, which she wasn't used to. He wasn't carrying anything. He would certainly use that to his advantage.

She would have to be careful how or even if she rolled, it was something she had come to use a lot to get out of the way. She was nimble, and he kept harping on at her to use her lithe frame to her advantage. Quick and nimble. Most of the time she felt like a lumbering oath. Especially when he explained he was disadvantaged because of his size and heavier frame, and then proceeded to float up a damn wall like a freaking butterfly.

She was watching him carefully, as she started pacing a circle around him. He matched her slowly, and before long they were in a stalemate. They paced around each other, just out of arms reach. But one step from either of them and they would both be within grappling distance.

She was contemplating how to get within his bubble and throw him off guard when he darted at her. She sucked in a breath and ducked under his hands, quickly sidestepping his swipe at her ankle with one of his own feet. She made to quickly jab at his ribs but he dodged her fumble effortlessly and re-engaged her with a sidestep and a forceful palm to her shoulder.

She staggered but held her stance. The rifle banged against her back, and she winced slightly. She couldn't make the strap any tighter. He used her misbalanced stance in order push her back on the defensive, forcing her to retreat and throw up her arms in a block against an oncoming blow.

Georgia gritted her teeth against the increasing onslaught, dancing backwards and sideways to protect herself as much as she could. At some point her bun had come loose and her ponytail was swinging freely, strands of fringe and the bulk of it obstructing her vision. Her chest was heaving with the effort of their continued mock battle, the rifle increasingly becoming a nuisance as it threw her off balance.

He was as composed and calm as ever, the only tell that he was putting any thought into anything was the thin line of his lips. He was emotionless, calculated and demanding in his offense. She'd never managed to get him on any sort of defensive to make a comparison.

Sweat was beading on her forehead and trickling down her neck, and she wiped her hands on her thighs as Hanzo took a moment to back off. This time she lunged at him first, though she didn't surprise him like she had hoped to. He easily swept her assault aside. She stumbled as he redirected her jabs, but couldn't recover in time. She gasped and threw her hands out to try and breakfall like he had taught her, and waited for the awkward impact to the concrete.

But it never came. Warm hands shot out to grab her arm and her waist, and on reflex her hands found the sleeve of his covered arm and the muscles of his bare one. He stopped her fall at a weird diagonal angle, and paused a moment. It was as if they were dancing, and frozen on a dip. Almost. She didn't know why, but time slowed for a brief second as she probably enjoyed the feel underneath her fingertips more than was warranted, and became acutely aware of the closeness of him. His breath puffed on her forehead and relished in the warmth of his hands. His muscles twitched and flexed beneath her fingertips, and the grip on her waist tightened a fraction. She tried not to breath, lest she scare him off. But eventually she had to, and it seemed to fracture the moment, and he became aware of himself.

And then it was over and she was upright, and he stepped away. She swallowed hard, trying and failing to calm her breathing, and shifted on her feet, adjusting the rifle strap on her shoulder. She didn't notice that he was also attempting and failing to do the same. If she had looked up, it would be the first time he had ever appeared dishevelled or bothered in all of their training sessions. But she didn't, and he was grateful.

She had been warm and soft and he'd held on for far too long. He cleared his throat to try and compose himself. "That is enough for tonight. We will reconvene tomorrow."

She nodded and made a hasty retreat. He watched her go, leaving enough time for her to gain a head start before he too headed for bed.

/0*0\

Hanzo decided to have a shower when he eventually made his way back to his room. He untied his sash and let his robes fall to the floor, forgotten. He stood in front of the mirror as it fogged, two dragons illuminating it blue as they emerged and chuffed at him. He untied his hair and let it fall on either side of his face. The grey in particular stood out at that moment, the only physical sign of his true age visible.

If he concentrated he could still feel her taut suppleness beneath his hands, her warmth setting his fingers on fire. He cursed himself softly and ran his hands through his hair, mussing it. She was going to be the death of him, by the gods. The pair of dragons wound themselves around him as he stepped into the scalding water, hissing along with him as it seared into his skin. He braced himself against the wall and dunked his head under the faucet, water blasting the back of his head and running down his neck and back.

He stood there, trying to scald his thoughts away with the water. The steam gathered up as he stood there into a thin, hazy mist in the bathroom. It humidified the air and made it hard to breath. He still stood there, contemplating his existence as his two spirits whined at him and fazed through the soap dish on the shower caddy. He grumbled at them, but grabbed at the soap anyway and went about lathering himself with almost robotic-like efficiency.

He rinsed himself off and scrubbed his face with his hands, groaning in frustration at himself. There was no way she was still interested in him, there couldn't be. She had hightailed it out of the training range as fast as she had been able to. If that wasn't a clear sign he didn't know what was. He grimaced. He had been torturing himself for weeks thinking she still had a crush on him. And after than there was no way she could. The way she had spoken to her sister implied that she was incredibly bold. Her actions with the boy from weeks ago basically painted that she _was_ bold. And yet…

She'd turned tail and run.

He sighed. At least he knew where he stood now.


End file.
